


Fall or Fly

by the_sky_is_forever



Series: Dad Grantaire (+ two boyfriends) [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Dad Grantaire, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Pining Enjolras, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 17:09:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3537416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_sky_is_forever/pseuds/the_sky_is_forever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire's a single dad. (Not something he'd ever imagined himself being, but when life throws a kid at you, you shut up, get on with it, and do the best you can.) When his friend, Bahorel, invites him to a 'group' of sorts, he goes along - because what's the worst that could happen? (And God, he needs a night off.) (Not that he doesn't love his kid, of course.)<br/>Enjolras is in love with Combeferre. Combeferre is in love with Enjolras. They've never told each other. When a charming and attractive man named Grantaire shows up one day, things start to get a little complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall or Fly

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve written and re-written this a thousand and one times and it’s been in the works for an eternity
> 
> I hope you like it
> 
> If you see any errors no matter how small feel free to point them out so I can fix them! I’ve read this so many times if there are any left it’s because I’ve gone a little out of my mind!
> 
> (I know nothing about kids, Paris, or being in a relationship. This should be fun!)

“Polyamory is differentiable from some other forms of nonmonogamy (including adultery) in that it is future-oriented. Poly relationships are not located solely in the moment, but have intentions (though perhaps tacit and vaguely defined) of at least adding to a base of experience possibly so far as signifying a life-long and emotionally attached commitment.”

“Security comes first from inside of you. Then, if you are very lucky, you will be in a position to find other people who also possess that same sort of security, and build some sort of family or community as a team.”

_― Anthony D. Ravenscroft, Polyamory: Roadmaps for the Clueless and Hopeful: An Introduction on Polyamory_

 

When the banging on his door gets too loud for him to ignore, Grantaire rolls out of bed and stumbles in the direction of his flat’s entrance hall. On the way, he mildly thinks about how exactly he’s going to murder the person that’s at his door.

It’s not even nine am yet, according to the clock on the wall, and he grits his teeth.

Yanking the door open, he blinks in surprise. He looks between the woman and the small child whose hand she is holding, and frowns. “Can I help you?”

The woman says, “You probably don’t remember me, but we met almost two years ago.”

He looks at her, trying to remember her as he takes in her petite frame and dyed-blonde hair, but fails to and shrugs. She could be any number of women from his past. “Sorry, I don’t remember you.”

She sighs. “Figures.” Glancing over his shoulder into his flat, she asks, “Can I come in? We need to talk.”

He hesitates but in the end steps aside to let her in. As she follows him down the short hallway to the front room, she says, “I’m Michele, by the way.” The little girl trails along beside her, lagging behind and having to be pulled by the hand.

As they sit down on the sofa, the woman pulls the young girl onto her knee. “This is Evette,” Michele tells Grantaire, who is starting to get a really bad feeling. “She’s a little over one.”

Grantaire regards them both warily, and Michele sighs. “She’s yours, Grantaire.”

Time seems to stop as Grantaire stares at the little girl in the woman’s arms. Evette glances between her mother and Grantaire, wide-eyed and unaware. “Oh, God,” Grantaire whispers. “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive,” Michele answers. “But we can do a paternity test if you want to make sure.”

He shakes his head, distractedly, unable to tear his eyes away from the child who is apparently his. Oh, God, he created her. He gave her life. This girl came _from_ him. Little Evette’s hair is dark and curly, just like his, and she has their blue eyes. “Why- Do you want- I mean, what’s your reason for telling me now?”

At this, Michele shifts uncomfortably in her seat, and Grantaire’s heart picks up speed. “I can’t keep her,” is Michele’s reply, at last, and Grantaire squeezes his eyes shut, praying to a God he doesn’t believe in that this is not happening. “My job- I don’t have time to raise her like I want to. I tried, I really did, but I’m just not cut out to be a mother. Grantaire, please, I can’t give her the care she needs. All her life, she’s just been passed from nanny to nanny, and that’s not what I want for her. You’re a good man, Grantaire, I know you are. That night we spent together, well, I just got the impression that you… cared more than most men I’ve slept with.”

Grantaire stares at her in disbelief, “Michele, I’m poor, I don’t have the money.”

“I’m not poor, I’ll help pay for the child, I just can’t be in her life,” she says immediately. “I wouldn’t ask if I thought there was a way for me to keep her.” She shifts her child onto the sofa beside her as she roots around in her bag. Pulling out a wad of notes, she passes them to Grantaire. “Look, I can give you this much a month, that should cover basic costs, and if you ever are in desperate need let me know, and I can give you more.”

He looks between the money in his hand and little Evette on the sofa. Finally, he looks back up at Michele. “Will you visit her?”

She shakes her head. “No. I can’t. It will make me miss her too much.”

Grantaire nods, feeling numb. “Okay,” he says weakly. “If you give me your phone number, that way we can keep in touch. Uh, I don’t- I don’t really know what to say here.”

Michele’s face lights up. “You’ll do it? You’ll take care of her?”

Grantaire’s in a little bit of a daze, and as if from a distance, he hears himself say, “Yes. Yes, I’ll do it. I’ll take care of her.”

“Thank you so much,” Michele breathes.

As soon as Michele leaves, Grantaire turns to look at Evette. He crosses to her, smiling warmly. “Hello, Evette. I guess I’m your daddy now.”

Then he sighs, feeling completely lost.

He does what he always does in an emergency: he calls Éponine.

Éponine is pretty much the only friend he has at present and is usually very good at staying calm throughout his various crises. However, when she shows up at his door, and takes one look at his daughter, her reaction is, “Well, fuck.”

Grantaire gives her a hard look. “Do we really want her growing up learning words like that?”

Éponine nearly screeches. “Grantaire! You cannot be a father!”

He groans loudly. “You think I don’t know that?” he asks her, sounding as desperate as he feels. “Will you help me?”

She wraps her arms around him, resting her chin on his head. “Of course I will, R.”

-

**Five Years Later**

“Papa! Papa!” Evette cries out happily as she runs out of the school. Grantaire bends down to scoop her up into his arms, spinning her round. Her dark curly hair is pulled back in a bobble, a few curls springing free wildly as Grantaire’s often does when he bothers to tie his own back.

“Hey, Eve, how was your day?” he asks her with a smile.

“Long,” is her deadly serious answer. He laughs at her solemn expression and plants a kiss on her cheek.

“Well, how about we stop for ice cream on the way home?”

Her small face lights up at the prospect, and she nods her head excitedly. Setting her down on the ground, he takes her bag off her with one hand, slipping the strap of the small rucksack over his shoulder and taking her hand with the other.

They make their way down the street. Now six, Evette can talk for France, and she keeps up a running commentary on her day, telling her papa all about the boy, Tommie, who plaited her hair, and the girl, Evangeline, who showed her how to draw a tree.

Grantaire listens avidly, nodding along with her words and answering with questions about things that happened. She obliges, gladly filling him in on all the things he missed out on.

It had been her first day of cours préparatoire, and there were plenty of new people to tell her papa about.

Grantaire buys her a strawberry ice cream and a honeycomb one for himself. They sit on a bench at the side of a street as they eat them.

“How do you feel about staying at Auntie Éponine’s tonight, mon petit chou?” Grantaire asks her, and his daughter’s face is ecstatic.

“Yes!” she says, “Will Gavroche be there? And Azelma?”

Grantaire says that they will, and Evette is happy about her plans for the night now.

As soon as they get back to Grantaire’s flat – still the same one that he first met his daughter in – she darts off to her room to pack a bag. Grantaire flops onto the sofa, tiredly. He has an art commission that he really needs to get done, hence why he asked Éponine to look after Evette for one night.

The two of them take the bus over to Éponine’s house, and as soon as they get there, Evette is swept away by Gavroche and Azelma, with little more than a, “Bye, Papa!” called over her shoulder.

Éponine smiles at him. “I’ll take good care of her; you go get some work done.”

He nods, gives her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek, and bids his goodbye.

-

Eight hours later, Grantaire discovers that he doesn’t have any coffee in his house. 1am and there’s no coffee.

Honestly, it feels like the end of the world.

He could do with a break anyway, he decides; he’s been working almost solidly. Pulling on a jacket, he instinctively heads to check on Evette, before remembering that she’s with Éponine.

Shaking his head in amazement at himself, he sets off to his favourite twenty-four hour coffee shop.

It’s cold out on the street, but the café is warm in comparison, and he nods at the man behind the counter, ordering a black coffee.

There are only two other people in the café, sitting together at a small table and talking so intensely that Grantaire thinks they might have forgotten about their drinks. Oh, no, wait, Mathieu – the local homeless guy that most people know – is here too. Grantaire drops a few euros that he has in his jacket pocket onto Mathieu’s table and the man nods at him appreciatively.

Mathieu’s always been a pretty good guy, and it’s quite often that he’ll sit in here all night. As long as he doesn’t fall asleep, he’s allowed to hang out.

Grantaire flops into a booth, taking a large swig of the scalding hot coffee. Rubbing at his eyes, he thinks that maybe he should have just gone to sleep instead.

He gets up to go back to the counter and ask if he can get his coffee to go instead – he knows it’s annoying, he’s worked as a barista, but he really doesn’t want to sit in this café tonight. The problem is, as he passes the table with the two people sat at, he doesn’t spot the bag next to it.

He trips, landing sprawled onto the floor, shouting curse words at the top of his voice as his drink shoots out of his hand and spills all over the floor.

A pair of hands grab hold of him, heaving him to his feet. “Oh, my God, are you okay?” a voice asks.

Grantaire rubs at his knee, and then at his elbow, and winces. “Well, I’ve been better, but I’ve also been worse.”

The person laughs, and Grantaire looks up to see a curly-haired man smiling at him, still holding onto him. Grantaire glances down at his hands, and the man pulls them away quickly, hastily apologising.

Grantaire shrugs. “Thanks for helping me up.”

“Would you like me to buy you a new coffee?” the man asks, seemingly genuine.

Grantaire shakes his head, “No, it’s fine, I can get my own.”

“If you’re sure,” the stranger says, dubiously. “I’m really sorry for leaving my bag there. I should be more careful where I’m leaving my stuff.”

“It’s okay,” Grantaire tells him, starting to subtly shuffle in the direction of the counter, seeking an end to the conversation.

The guy gets the hint almost instantly, saying, “Have a nice night,” and sitting back down at the table, immediately turning back to his friend, who has unusually shiny, long hair.

Grantaire apologises to the worker for the mess and orders another black coffee, this time to go.

On the walk home, he considers throwing the coffee away, since all he wants to do is sleep now, but that would be two coffee’s worth of money just gone, so he drinks it. It doesn’t give him much of a caffeine kick anyway.

His bed is warm and soft, and he’s asleep within minutes.

-

He spends most of the morning finishing off the piece, and as soon as he’s done, he calls Éponine to check on Evette. As he talks on the phone to her, he’s cutting up lettuce for a salad, and when she tells him that his little girl drew all over Azelma with a sharpie, Grantaire’s attention slips – and so does his knife.

“Fuck!” he screams, dropping the phone and clutching at his hand.

On the other end of the line he can hear Éponine calling his name, and he grabs at the phone, “Ép, I’m gonna have to call you back, oh, fuck, can you look after Eve a little longer? I’ll text you.” Then he hangs up and drops his phone again.

The red line cuts deep into his finger, and it’s bleeding profusely. He grabs a towel off the side, holding it down on the cut and curses. As he peeks at it, he decides it’s best to go to the hospital, just to be sure. He doesn’t think it’s a good idea to drive, though, and he’s sure the bus won’t let him on, and he sure as hell doesn’t have the money for a taxi, so he ends up walking all the way to the hospital.

The cut never stops bleeding, and by the time he makes it there, the towel is soaked in blood. He heads straight for reception and says, “Hi, I think someone should look at my hand; it’s not stopping bleeding,” in a voice that’s much calmer than he’s feeling.

It’s not long before a nurse takes him to get it looked at. The doctor’s name badge reads Combeferre, and he’s friendly, keeping Grantaire calm as he examines the wound. “Alright, this needs stitches, so we’re going to get that done as quickly as we can,” he informs Grantaire with a smile.

Grantaire nods, weakly, muttering, “Oh, God,” under his breath at the thought of someone poking a needle through his flesh.

“Are you okay?” the doctor asks, noting his pallor.

Grantaire nods again. “Yes, yes, fine, no problem, I have no problem with you sticking a needle into my hand, none at all, nope, it’s okay.”

The doctor, Combeferre, is clearly trying to fight a smile, and Grantaire partially thinks it’s unprofessional and also that it’s the cutest thing he’s seen in a fully grown adult, possibly ever. “I’ll get it done quickly, and you don’t even have to look,” Combeferre tells him.

Grantaire looks at him, and he knows that he’s trembling. “Okay,” he says, faintly.

Combeferre, to his credit, hides the needle until he’s told Grantaire to look away. Grantaire both turns his head and squeezes his eyes shut.

“I’ll be as quick as I can,” Combeferre says again, and Grantaire nods.

True to his word, he works fast and efficient, and Grantaire is unbelievably grateful, even if he does spend the whole time wincing and keeping his eyes screwed shut. He keeps breathing in sharply every time he feels the needle in his skin, and he knows he’s being pathetic – it’s not as if it hurts – but he can’t help but feel uncomfortable with the idea of it.

Eventually he feels a tug, and then Combeferre says delicately, “Alright, I’m done.”

Grantaire lets out a breath heavily. “Okay, and you’re sure that it’s not gonna like, I don’t know, come undone, or anything? Not that I don’t trust you to do your job, but, like, I can’t go through that again so, I mean-”

“I promise you, sir, that you’re going to be fine,” Combeferre tells him, seriously.

Grantaire giggles, almost hysterically. “ _Sir_ ,” he repeats.

Combeferre raises an eyebrow at him. “I don’t remember giving you any sort of drugs.”

“No, sorry, I don’t like needles,” Grantaire admits, and Combeferre grins.

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” the doctor says.

Grantaire rolls his eyes as he gets to his feet. “So, am I good to go, then?”

“You’re good to go,” Combeferre tells him. “Make sure to come back if there are any problems. Not that I think there will be,” he adds, hastily.

Grantaire eyes him suspiciously. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Combeferre laughs. “Now go, I’m sure you have a busy life to be getting back to, now that you’re not bleeding out.”

Grantaire’s mind immediately turns to Evette. “Oh, shit,” he says. “Yes, I do. Thank you for, well, stitching me back together, see you around, Combeferre.”

Combeferre gives him another smile as Grantaire heads for the exit. He gets a bus straight to Éponine’s, and when she opens the door he says, “I just met the fucking sex God of doctors.”

She grins, and says, “Really? Sex talk when the kids are in the house?”

He laughs. “Well, they gotta know some day.”

She lets him in and he fills her in on what he did to his hand and all about Doctor Combeferre. Sitting back in her chair in the kitchen she laughs, “Are you going to see him again? Ooh, maybe I should, like, fake an injury and go check him out.”

As Grantaire rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to reply, Evette comes scampering into the kitchen. “Papa!” she says. “You’re here!”

“Hey, Eve,” Grantaire says with a smile, pulling her up onto his knee. She smiles up at him and pats him on the shoulder. He shakes his head, fondly. “You’re a very grown up six year old,” he tells her.

She nods along. “Yes, Monsieur Fauchelevent said that, too,” she tells him of her new teacher.

Éponine laughs. “I can see her growing up to be just like you, R. Reading Dante and Keats for fun, while looking up Rousseau’s philosophies in her spare time.”

“Well,” Grantaire replies, smiling down at his little girl, who’s beaming proudly at being compared to her papa, “as long as she only takes that part of me, I would be very pleased indeed.”

Evette looks up at him. “Are we going home, now, Papa?”

“Yes we are, mon trognon,” he answers, giving her a kiss on the top of her head. “Oh, wait, what was that about a sharpie?” he remembers suddenly.

“Zelma said I could do it!” Evette defends herself instantly.

Grantaire sighs but Éponine merely shrugs. “Sharpie comes off,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand, “eventually. Go home, R.”

They walk home, Grantaire holding onto Evette’s hand tightly, while she merrily points out the shapes of clouds and small little birds flittering about overhead. She’s walking slowly, too slowly for Grantaire’s taste, so he crouches down for her to climb onto his shoulders and picks up the speed, holding his little girl’s ankles while she grips onto his hair, giggling.

They make it home in record time and he drops her onto the sofa while he goes to make dinner.

That night, she crawls into bed with him, informing him in a very straightforward manner that she’s certain there’s something in her room and she would rather sleep in here. He tugs her close under the covers, and she curls up to his chest, saying, “Night Papa,” quietly.

“Night Eve,” he replies.

-

Lying on the sofa, Enjolras’ eyes start to drift shut. His laptop’s still whirring away on his stomach, the screen showing a word document opened and an almost finished essay on the screen. He drifts off to sleep, lazily thinking that this can – though shouldn’t – be finished later. Because of Combeferre, he’s getting better at getting full nights of sleep, and knowing when to take a break. Though really he doesn’t think Combeferre has any right to say what the proper amount of sleep is.

His eyes fly open at the sound of Combeferre sighing heavily, and he's on his feet in seconds, cursing loudly. “I'm so sorry, I'm going now,” he blurts out, as Combeferre looks at him with a tired smile.

Combeferre waves it off. “Don't bother, I'll do it tomorrow.”

Enjolras internally slaps himself. “No, you've had a long day and you asked me to do this. I can still do it.”

“Thanks,” Combeferre replies, moving to flop down on the sofa.

He’d almost completely forgotten that he’d promised Combeferre that he’d do the shopping, since Combeferre had had a 42 hour shift at the hospital.

He ruffles Combeferre’s hair, smiling down at him. “It’s nice to have you back.”

Combeferre smiles back at him and Enjolras feels warmer inside. As he pulls on a jacket, he looks back over at Combeferre. “We don’t have to go out with the others tonight,” he tells him. “You seem exhausted; if you want to stay in, I’m sure they’ll understand.”

Combeferre shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. I’ll just sleep between now and then. We’ve got what? Five hours? That’ll be fine.”

Enjolras laughs at his best friend’s determination to make people happy and says, “Well, if you change your mind, we can stay in and carry on marathoning _The Office_.”

Combeferre genuinely looks tempted by that offer, and Enjolras half hopes that he’ll agree to it. If only as an excuse for him to spend the night curled up on the sofa with Combeferre. He’s not sure when exactly he fell in love with his best friend – one of his best friends – but he knows the exact moment he realised it.

They’d been fourteen at the time, and Combeferre had come bursting into his room unannounced to tell him all about this beautiful breed of moth that he’d just found out about, pulling print-outs from his bag to show him. He’d gone into detail about the intricacies of its markings. He’d then proceeded to yank his t-shirt down, showing the area just below his collarbone and informing Enjolras that he was going to get it tattooed there when he turned eighteen.

Enjolras had laughed, looking back at his friend with his excitable expression, still with his shirt tugged down, and had thought _fuck. I’m in love_.

He never told Combeferre, though. Combeferre had never shown the slightest interest in him, though he had liked Courfeyrac for a while, and Enjolras hadn’t wanted to ruin the close friendship they had by confessing to his feelings.

For a while, he’d wondered if he was just getting confused between his love for his friend and romantic love, but he knew that he didn’t feel the same way about Courfeyrac, though he did love him, so this had to be more.

He’s had a long time to come to terms with these feelings, and learn how to control himself around Combeferre, and he doesn’t mind that he’ll never be anything more to Combeferre than what he is now. Sometimes, when he’s tired, or drunk, he’ll find himself wondering if they could be more, if Combeferre could think of him the way he thinks of Combeferre.

Walking down the street, he forces himself to push those thoughts aside. Combeferre is one of his best friends, and he couldn’t ask for more.

He’s in a rush as he enters the small grocery store, wanting to get back to Combeferre to make sure he’s alright, and okay, just to be around him. 42 hours without someone else living in your apartment is odd, and even more so when you’re as inseparable as Combeferre and Enjolras. He knows they can be a little co-dependent; they and Courfeyrac had hardly left each other’s sides when they were in secondary education, but they are slowly growing up. Courfeyrac no longer lives with them, instead living with Marius (and Jehan, though not officially), and Combeferre is a grown-up with a proper job.

Grabbing a box of Combeferre’s cereal off the side, he scans the shelves for his own brand. He makes a disappointed noise at the out-of-stock sign where they should be, and goes for the second best.

He heads down the next isle, moving quickly and looking up and down the shelves for the cheap chocolate spread (just because Combeferre has an addiction, doesn’t mean he’s going to spend all their money on it), when he crashes into someone. He skitters back a few paces and almost drops his shopping when a hand grabs his shirt and hauls him upright.

“I’m so sorry,” the person exclaims, and Enjolras looks up at them. He struggles to string together a coherent thought in the face of the stranger with the electric blue, concerned eyes. He pushes his hair back from his face as he stares, before finally pulling himself together and managing to get out an apology too.

“I think it was my fault,” he tells the stranger. “I wasn’t really watching where I was going.” He can feel a blush coming on, under the stranger’s gaze.

“That makes two of us,” he jokes, and it startles a laugh out of Enjolras. The blue-eyed man smiles and Enjolras thinks that he looks beautiful. The thought shocks him a little and he quickly makes an excuse to be gone, telling him that he’s in a rush – which he is.

“Me too,” the stranger with the lovely eyes replies, and yet neither of them move anywhere.

Enjolras then embarrasses himself by trying to say that he really should go; only succeeding in stuttering out a few half-formed sentences.

Blue-eyes grins at him and asks, “Are you always this articulate?”

Enjolras wants to tell him that he’s normally very articulate, and that he doesn’t know what’s going on, but he can’t, and the stranger continues to smile. Enjolras is pretty sure he’s blushing, now. The stranger apologises for keeping him before ducking around him and continuing on his way, wishing Enjolras a good day.

“Yeah,” Enjolras says, blinking. “You too.”

The stranger’s smile seems to have woken a thousand butterflies in his stomach, and it’s odd, because no one’s made him feel like that since… Well, since Combeferre. It’s new, and more than a little bit scary.

He finishes his shopping, and he’d be lying if he pretended that he didn’t spend half the time keeping an eye out for the mystery stranger. More than anything, he wants to know his name, and perhaps his phone number.

By the time he gets back to Combeferre he’s feeling more than a little confused, but when he sees Combeferre asleep on the sofa, he wonders how he could ever love anyone more than he loves the man in front of him.

After putting the groceries away neatly, he goes and sits down at the end of the sofa, picking up his laptop again and re-opening the document. One of his hands idly goes to rest on Combeferre’s ankle, gently rubbing it as he reads over what he’s written.

He’s been trying to get a job at the university for a while, now, and to keep up the practise of being able to write and grade essays, he keeps looking up the syllabus and writing essays about the topics. It’s just for fun, nothing more, and Combeferre and Courfeyrac think him a little mad for it.

When it starts getting on towards 6pm he gets up to make Combeferre and himself some dinner before they go out. When the pasta’s almost completely cooked, simmering on the stove with a cheese sauce poured over it, he goes to carefully shake Combeferre awake.

Combeferre blinks up at him, and Enjolras wants to kiss him. He’s had a lot of practice at not doing that, however, so he just smiles. “Come on, sleepy, dinner’s ready.” He passes Combeferre his glasses, and the man puts them on, standing up and stretching. His shirt rides up a little, and Enjolras forces himself to avert his eyes.

His friend falls into a chair at the dining table while he serves up their food. “Are you certain you want to go? My offer still stands,” Enjolras reminds him.

Combeferre chuckles. “I’m starting to think that you don’t want to go, Enj.”

Enjolras simply rolls his eyes at him – a bad habit he picked up off Courfeyrac and never managed to shake; Combeferre hardly ever rolls his eyes, ever the perfect individual – and says, “I’m just making sure you get enough sleep.”

“Thank you,” Combeferre says, taking a bite of pasta, “but I’m okay, and I really would like to go tonight.”

Enjolras smiles. “Alright.”

-

When Grantaire arrives back in his flat he dumps the groceries in the kitchen, putting the select few things into the freezer, and then joins Evette on the sofa.

When he’d first had Evette handed over to him, he honestly hadn’t thought that he’d be very good at being a dad. Now, however, four years on, she’s the best thing to ever happen to him. Her mother, true to her word, sends monthly amounts of money, straight to his bank account, and once when it was getting a little thin, he asked and she gave him extra.

Evette’s mother isn’t a bad person, just one who couldn’t be a parent. From what Grantaire can tell, she’s some big-shot lawyer – a child really wasn’t on the floor plan.

Grantaire couldn’t be happier that she hadn’t wanted to raise Evette – sure, he had to stop going out and drinking, but that was mostly a good thing, and yes he rarely gets to watch his shows on the TV, and okay, sometimes it’s tiring being a dad, but mostly, it’s the best thing in the world.

His little girl is the most important thing to him, and he gives her everything he can to make her happy.

When he gets a text from Bahorel, he nudges her. “Hey, fancy going to see Uncle Bahorel at the gym?”

She gets to her feet immediately with a wide grin, and Grantaire takes that to be a yes. He grabs his gym clothes and packs a bag of snacks for Evette to eat while she sits at the side. When he gets to the door, she’s standing there with her coat already on and her boots laced, clutching a book in her hands. Once again, he wonders when she got so grown up. _You’re six_ he wants to cry. _Be a child, please._

As soon as they get to the gym, Bahorel runs over, scooping her up into his arms and spinning her round. Setting her down, he measures her up against him. She barely comes up to his thigh, but he still crows, “Damn, Ettie, you’re getting tall.”

She beams up at him and reaches for his hair. She can’t reach, so he crouches down so that she can tug on it. “And your _hair_ is getting long,” she tells him. He laughs and ties it up in a bun to get it out the way.

“When are you gonna start working out here instead of just tagging along with your papa, Ettie?” Bahorel asks her.

“Papa says that I have to get a bit older before you can teach me to punch a- Wait, Papa, what word was it you used?”

Grantaire laughs as his daughter turns her attention back to him. “I’d like to think it was something appropriate, but knowing me, it was probably ‘dickhead’, Eve.”

Bahorel laughs his booming laugh, and ruffles Evette’s hair. “Right, R, you gonna spar with me or what?”

Grantaire grins and pulls off his shirt, rooting around in his bag for his workout one, while saying, “You’re going down, Rel.”

Bahorel grins. “You’ve never managed before. I don’t see why today will be any different.”

Evette rolls her eyes and wanders away to sit and read her book. On her way, she picks up her papa’s bag and drags it with her across the floor.

Grantaire cracks his knuckles, facing off Bahorel and Bahorel grins, animal-like. “It’s been too long since you came for a fight, R,” Bahorel tells him as they start to eye each other up, stretching to warm up their muscles. 

“You try being a dad,” Grantaire answers as he lunges forwards, swinging his fist round at Bahorel’s side.

Bahorel deflects the move easily, swinging back in retaliation, and his knuckles make contact with Grantaire’s side. Grantaire breathes out sharply, but darts backwards, keeping on his toes.

It quickly becomes clear that Grantaire’s a little rusty, but as they work, he improves steadily, until he’s solidly getting in a few punches.

By the time they stop, Grantaire’s fists ache a little, and they’ve both worked up a fine sweat. They grab a drink together, flopping down onto the floor near Evette and stretching. “Hey, R, I’m meeting up with a few friends for drinks later, if you want to join us.”

Grantaire glances across at Evette and grimaces. “I’d love to, Bahorel, but I don’t want to ask Ponine to babysit again. That girl deserves a break.”

“Hire a sitter, Grantaire. You need a break, too.”

Grantaire nods slowly. “Where am I going to find a decent sitter on such short notice?” he asks, though, sounding very tired.

“I could ask my sister to do it? I’m sure she’d be willing,” Bahorel offers.

“Are you sure?” Grantaire asks, sceptical.

“Let me call her.”

The conversation between Bahorel and his sister doesn’t last long, and then Grantaire has a word with her. They arrange what time she’ll come round tonight, and Grantaire promises to have cooked for them.

The prospect of a night out is wonderful, and when he and Evette leave the gym, it’s with a smile on his face.

-

Combeferre yawns widely as they walk into the Musain and Enjolras wants to take him home and put him to bed. Combeferre catches the wary look Enjolras is giving him and says, “Don’t. I’m fine.”

He gives Enjolras a big smile and widens his eyes so that he looks more awake, and Enjolras laughs.

“Let’s get some alcohol in you,” Enjolras says, heading for the bar with Combeferre trailing along behind.

After buying their drinks, they set about dragging a bunch of tables together for when the others arrive and just as they’re finishing up, Courfeyrac and Jehan enter.

Courfeyrac bounds across to them, grabbing them round the necks despite being a lot shorter, and pulls them down for a hug. Combeferre and Enjolras catch each other’s eyes and make a face, but they return the hug, gripping their best friend tightly. Courfeyrac lets them go, beaming up at them, and Enjolras grins back.

Courfeyrac never had that phase where one is 'too cool' for enthusiasm – he's always been a bubble of excitement, and Enjolras doesn't think that will ever change.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping, Ferre?” Jehan asks with a frown at the man in question.

“That’s what I tried to tell him-” Enjolras tries to say, but Combeferre shuts him up by knocking him with his hip.

“No, what you tried to tell me was that we should marathon _The Office_ ,” Combeferre points out before turning away from Enjolras’ indignant expression to say to Jehan, “I’m fine. I slept for a good four hours earlier and I can lie in tomorrow.”

Enjolras gives a disapproving shake of his head as he sits down at the table, patting the chair next to him for Combeferre to follow suit. Jehan sits down with them while Courfeyrac disappears to get them drinks.

Pretty soon, everyone has arrived. Joly especially disapproves of Combeferre’s presence, but contents himself with giving him a quick telling off before wrapping him in a hug and kindly saying, “Just get plenty of sleep tonight.”

Enjolras watches as Combeferre fights the urge to snap at Joly that he is fine and laughs. Combeferre glares at him, which only succeeds at making Enjolras laugh more. “I’m sorry, you’re just very cute when you’re angry,” Enjolras teases.

Combeferre sticks out his tongue at him and Enjolras laughs brightly. He feels at every moment as if he’s on the edge of saying ‘I love you’, though he never does and he never will. He has too much self-control for that.

Enjolras notices him the moment he walks through the door, and his eyes widen slightly. What is he doing here? Does he always come here? Has he just never noticed the beautiful blue-eyed man before? When Bahorel jumps to his feet and rushes over to the man to pull him into what looks like a very rough hug, Enjolras’ confusion and surprise only increases.

He turns back to Combeferre and Courfeyrac, trying to pay attention to what they’re talking about, and not the dark-haired man who’s being brought over to their table.

Bahorel interrupts them all, calling out, “Everyone, this is Grantaire,” over their conversations.

Enjolras looks up, trying not to stare, but the blue-eyed man – Grantaire – looks straight at Combeferre and blurts out, “Oh, my God, the hot doctor.”

Enjolras feels his face and neck heating up, glancing across at Combeferre who has gone red. Combeferre responds to him, a little uncomfortably, but mostly in a friendly manner, enquiring about his hand, and Enjolras peeks at Grantaire’s hand, trying to see what is wrong with it.

When Grantaire smiles back at Combeferre, replying to him, Enjolras quickly turns to takes a large gulp of his drink and looks down at the table.

Bahorel laughs loudly at something Grantaire said, but Enjolras didn’t quite hear what, and when he looks up, Grantaire is clicking his fingers and pointing at Courfeyrac, saying, “Hot café guy.”

Courfeyrac laughs and says something about making Grantaire spill his drink. The conversation quickly degenerates as Grantaire calls Jehan the “beautiful café guy” and Courfeyrac and Jehan squabble over which is the better compliment. (“I’m like _flowers_ and _poetry_ and _stars_ , Courfeyrac.” “We already knew that, chéri, but what I am is smoking, bootylicious, and on fucking fire.”)

Enjolras can’t see why it matters; they’re clearly both attractive individuals.

When Grantaire wanders over to the bar alone, Enjolras gets out of his seat, telling Combeferre he’ll be right back, and trying not to think about the twist in his gut when he realises that Combeferre is staring after Grantaire.

Enjolras moves to stand beside Grantaire at the bar and smiles, introducing himself. “We, uh, met in the shop earlier today?” he prompts, but he can already see the recognition in Grantaire’s pretty eyes.

Grantaire smiles warmly, answering, “Yes, I remember you. The one with the nice eyes.” He gives Enjolras a wink, and Enjolras thinks that he’s probably flushing, feeling like he’s been caught out.

“Honestly, I thought that about you,” Enjolras says, giving Grantaire a smile. It almost feels like a betrayal to Combeferre, Enjolras thinks as he notices Grantaire respond to his gentle flirting. That’s ridiculous, of course. There’s nothing between him and Combeferre. No reason to feel bad.

Grantaire offers to buy him a drink and Enjolras declines, blushing when Grantaire calls him out on getting up just to introduce himself.

Grantaire startles him by leaning in then, placing his lips by Enjolras’ ear and whispering into it, “We’re being watched.”

Enjolras’ stomach flips as he feels Grantaire’s warm breath against his skin, but he looks across to the table of his friends and, as Grantaire said, most of them are staring. Enjolras considers hiding his face in his hands – or perhaps Grantaire’s neck – in embarrassment. He manages a quiet laugh. “That’s no doubt my fault,” he says. “I’m not normally the approach-strangers type.”

Grantaire’s eyes light up and Enjolras thinks that he is gorgeous. “Is that so?” Grantaire asks, a teasing light entering his tone.

Enjolras bites his lip before he confirms it, trying to stop himself from grinning too much. What is this man doing to him?

They grin at each other for a moment, Enjolras trying to come up with something to say, but Grantaire suggests they go back to the table, and Enjolras can hardly refuse, can he?

Sliding back into his seat next to Combeferre he takes a large gulp of his drink again. Combeferre raises an eyebrow at him. “What was that?”

“I can’t talk to new people?” Enjolras asks, getting defensive for reasons that even he doesn’t know.

“You can,” Combeferre says, “but you don’t.”

Enjolras shrugs and spares a glance down the table to where Grantaire sits, laughing with Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta. “He just seems nice, that’s all.”

Combeferre lifts his eyebrows. “He just seems nice,” he echoes. Enjolras doesn’t understand what Combeferre’s trying to get at and he frowns.

“What?” he asks. Combeferre gives him a look that Enjolras can’t read, and Enjolras’ forehead creases. “Are you trying to pick an argument with me over this? He’s just a guy I talked to. I met him earlier today and I went over to say hi. Do you have a problem with that?”

Combeferre’s face darkens. “Of course not,” he hisses, clearly making an effort to keep his voice low. “I just think it’s odd.”

Enjolras stares at him, bewildered and feeling attacked. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” Combeferre snaps at him.

“Good, because you’re not my boyfriend, Ferre,” Enjolras says, feeling a twist in his gut even as he says it, almost as though he reminded himself more than he was reminding Combeferre. “I can talk to attractive guys if I want to,” he adds.

Combeferre blatantly flinches at that, jerking back a little, and he hisses at Enjolras, “I know I’m not your boyfriend. You don’t need to remind me of that.”

Enjolras isn’t even sure why they’re fighting about this, and he’s just about to do something to stop the fight when Combeferre gets to his feet, saying, “I’m tired, I’m going home.”

Enjolras blinks, as though some sort of trance is broken, and he says, “Oh,” quietly.

Combeferre stares back at him for a second, before looking away as he grabs his jacket and pulls it on.

Enjolras almost gets to his feet too; they rarely leave without the other. “Do you- Should I come too?” he asks, hesitantly.

Combeferre’s jaw tightens a little, a muscle jumping, and he says, “No. Stay here. I’ll see you later, or tomorrow, or whenever.”

Enjolras stares after him as he leaves, feeling a little sick at the thought that he’s fighting with Combeferre. They’ve fought before. One time they didn’t speak for days, though Enjolras can’t remember what started it now, but he still feels awful.

Courfeyrac leans over to him, whispering, “What just happened?”

Enjolras shrugs, sullenly, and takes another large gulp of his drink. Then he finishes off his drink and helps himself to Combeferre’s too.

“Woah,” Courfeyrac says, sliding across into Combeferre’s empty seat. “Slow down there, captain. What did you argue about?”

Enjolras considers the question, and eventually answers, “Well, I think it was about Grantaire, but, uh, maybe not?”

Courfeyrac rolls his eyes. “Run me through what was said, and I’ll tell you what it was about.”

Sometimes, okay, pretty much all of the time, Enjolras is really grateful that Courfeyrac is his best friend.

When Enjolras is done talking, Courfeyrac puts on a little show about thinking super hard. Then he nods. “Remember that time I told you Combeferre was in love with you and you told me to ‘fuck off’?”

Enjolras glares at him. “Don’t even say-”

“Combeferre’s in love with you.”

“Fuck off,” Enjolras immediately snaps.

Courfeyrac laughs, patting him on the shoulder. “When I end up being right, you’re going to feel awful,” Courfeyrac tells him, and Enjolras rolls his eyes.

“I will walk right out of here,” he threatens.

“No you won’t,” Courfeyrac says with a grin, “because Combeferre took your car, and you can’t get home without a lift.”

Groaning in frustration, Enjolras flicks Courfeyrac on the forehead, making the man snigger.

“Anyway,” Courfeyrac says, “the long and short is: you told a guy that’s in love with you that you find another guy attractive, and then reminded said guy that is in love with you that he is not your boyfriend. That’s why he stormed out.”

Enjolras is starting to get a little irritated at Courfeyrac for pushing this, although granted Courfeyrac doesn’t know how Enjolras feels about Combeferre. “He’s not in love with me,” Enjolras stresses, “but I don’t want to fight with you too, so please stop.”

Courfeyrac shrugs. “Alright,” he says. He tells Enjolras to buy himself another drink and try to enjoy himself, but Enjolras no longer really feels in the mood. He could have been curled up on the sofa with Combeferre right now, they wouldn’t have fought, everything would feel right, and Enjolras wouldn’t be sat at a table in a bar wishing he could be anywhere else instead.

He spends the rest of the evening staring at nothing and half-listening to Courfeyrac and Jehan’s conversation. He gets his phone out to text Combeferre no less than six times, each time deciding against it.

When Grantaire leaves in a hurry, throwing a smile over at Enjolras as he goes, he barely manages to return it.

Courfeyrac eventually offers to drive him home and he nods. In the car, he pulls his phone out again and opens a blank text.

 **I’m sorry.** he types out, pressing send before he can change his mind.

Expecting that Combeferre’s already gone to bed, he creeps into the flat quietly, locking the door behind him. However, when he gets into the living room, he finds Combeferre sitting on the sofa; season one of _The Office_ playing. They’d watched this season what feels like a life time ago and Enjolras smiles down at his friend, curled up in blankets.

Combeferre looks up at him, and they stare at each other in silence for a moment that seems to stretch on forever. Combeferre smiles. “Come on,” he says, holding out his hand. Enjolras takes it, allowing himself to be pulled onto the sofa, kicking off his shoes before he tucks his feet underneath him. Leaning against Combeferre, he lets his eyes shut for a second. Wrapped in his friend’s warm hold, he breathes out. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Combeferre replies. Enjolras feels him press a kiss to the top of his head, and he strikes up a mantra in his mind: _he’s not in love with you, he’s not in love with you, he’s not in love with you_.

-

He wakes up on the sofa next to Combeferre. The blanket has fallen onto the floor at some point, and one of Combeferre’s arms is thrown over his stomach. Enjolras peeks at him through his eyelashes. He tries not to overthink it; this is a very normal best-friend thing to do. It’s happened before.

Carefully he slides Combeferre’s arm off him and gets up off the sofa, stretching and groaning. Combeferre sleeps on, and Enjolras takes a moment to watch him. It’s a little weird, and even he has to admit that.

He goes to make them both breakfast, using straight from the bottle pancake mix, because fuck off to making it himself. Covering the pancakes with lemon juice and sugar, he puts them onto plates and carries them through to the living room.

“Wake up,” he tells Combeferre; nudging him with his foot, since both of his hands are full.

Combeferre blinks groggily up at him, scowling a little.

“I know you’re tired, but food is important,” Enjolras says, waving the pancakes.

“This is coming from you?” Combeferre teases, but accepts the pancakes, moving his legs so Enjolras can sit down too. He cuts up the pancake and shovels a few pieces into his mouth, moaning a little at the taste. “Oh, my God, I love you,” he mumbles, chewing the food.

Enjolras’ heart jumps, but he just laughs, and says, “The pancakes love you too.”

Combeferre just continues to eat; demolishing both his pancakes before Enjolras is even done with his first. “Don’t they feed you at the hospital?” Enjolras asks.

“Not much,” Combeferre says with a shrug. “I mean, we have that banquet at one, followed by the Doctor’s Royal Gathering for dinner and champagne little over an hour later. Oh, and don’t forget the wild picnic that we have in the waiting room every day.”

Enjolras knocks against him, laughing. “So, by that you mean a pot noodle on your ten minute break and a pop-tart if you’re lucky.”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Combeferre confirms.

-

The next time Bahorel invites him out with his friends, once again at the gym, Grantaire hesitates. “I can’t afford a sitter.”

Bahorel waves a hand dismissively. “Bring her: you’re not going to be drinking, and none of the others are going to get that smashed.”

Grantaire bites his lip. “What will- Will the others be okay with that?”

Bahorel rolls his eyes. “Of course they will. Ettie’s lovely, and they all adore kids.”

That’s how Grantaire ends up walking to the _Musain_ again, this time holding Evette’s hand. Her corkscrew curls hang loosely around her head, since neither of them could get them to stay in a bobble.

They walk through the door, Evette trailing just a little behind her papa, clutching his hand. Bahorel isn’t there, yet, but the few that are there – Enjolras, Combeferre, and a blonde woman he doesn’t know – spot him instantly and wave him over.

They spot Evette next, and the shock on their faces is evident. Her hair, eyes, and features clearly identify her as a relation to him, and the way she’s clinging to his leg sets her out to be his child.

Combeferre is the first to recover, smiling down at her. “And who is this?”

Grantaire looks down at her and she looks back uncertainly with her big, blue eyes. He picks her up, balancing her on his hip. “This is Evette,” he says, knowing that she won’t introduce herself. He looks at the others, nervously. “She’s my daughter.”

The pretty blonde woman smiles and says, “Hello there, ma petite.”

Evette smiles at her carefully, through Grantaire’s curtain of hair. Grantaire looks at her. “Hi, I don’t know you,” he says, smiling none-the-less.

“Oh!” she says. “Right, I’m Cosette.” Her smile is stunning and Grantaire is a little captivated as he grins back, responding with his own name. He pulls out a chair and sits down, opposite Combeferre who’s staring at Grantaire, positioning Evette on his knee.

“You being shy?” he asks Evette quietly when she buries her face in his chest. He grins and then looks up to see Combeferre and Cosette looking at him and cooing. He rolls his eyes at them, secretly bursting with pride at his little girl and thrilling at how accepting they are.

Enjolras only seems to recover then, resting his arms on the table and asking, “So, uh, the mother? Where’s she?”

Combeferre gives him a disapproving look, quickly saying, “Grantaire, you don’t have to answer that.”

Grantaire waves him off. “No, it’s fine. Her mother just isn’t around anymore. It’s nothing personal, right Eve? Mama loves you.”

Evette nods, happily, and adds, “She gives Papa money and sends birthday gifts,” proudly.

Grantaire laughs. “Yeah, she’s a busy woman, and well, she and I were just a hook-up. Eve wasn’t exactly planned,” he plants a kiss into her hair, “but I’m glad she’s here.”

Enjolras smiles at him, sitting back in his seat, and he says, “She’s a lovely girl.” Combeferre shoots Enjolras another look, frowning in confusion, but he then smiles as he looks at the blond, who’s smiling at Grantaire and Evette.

At that moment, Bahorel arrives, Joly and Bossuet in tow, and crows, “Ettie!”

Evette sits up straight at his voice, hopping off her papa’s knee and darting across to him to be picked up in a hug, arms open wide. “Uncle Bahorel!” she screams, excitedly.

Joly and Bossuet watch the scene with amusement – as does everyone, actually, Grantaire excepted due to the fact that he goes through this every time his daughter and his friend see each other.

Joly glances between the girl with the brown curls and Grantaire, mouthing, “Yours?” at him. Grantaire nods, and Joly beams.

When he comes across to sit down beside Grantaire, he says, “She’s adorable. How old is she?”

“Six, now,” Grantaire tells him.

“Damn! That’s old!” Joly laughs.

“You’re telling me,” Grantaire agrees, also laughing. “Wait till you hear her properly talk; sometimes I think she might secretly be twenty.”

The others start to arrive in dribs and drabs, all fawning over Evette in their own ways. Musichetta curtsies to her. Jehan and Courfeyrac give her warm hugs. A man named Feuilly tips his top hat (why is he wearing a top hat?).

She moves from knee to knee, happily soaking up the attention, and Grantaire alternates between talking to Combeferre and sitting quietly, watching his daughter.

At one point, Evette had been sitting on Enjolras’ knee, twirling a strand of his long blond hair around her finger and telling him seriously, “You’re a very pretty man.”

Enjolras laughed at that but seemed a little at loss of what to say back, so Combeferre had stepped in, pulling lightly at Evette’s own hair, saying, “Look, yours and Enjolras’ hair match.”

Evette grinned as she compared their hair, holding a bit of her curly hair and a bit of his together and holding them up for Grantaire to see. “Look, Papa! We match!”

Grantaire looked between his daughter and Enjolras, who seemed to be a little at a loss, bending his head so that she doesn’t pull on his hair too hard, and he had said, “Yes you do, but maybe you shouldn’t pull at Enjolras’ hair, Eve.”

The little girl looked up at Enjolras in surprise, as though she’d forgotten that the blond hair was attached to a person and quickly apologised, letting go of his hair. Enjolras told her it was alright and she patted him on the cheek with a smile. Both Combeferre and Grantaire laughed at that.

Currently, Evette’s sitting on Cosette’s knee, having her hair plaited, while she screws her face up in concentration, attempting to do the same to Jehan’s hair. It’s not going so well for her as it is for Cosette, but Jehan seems nothing but thrilled to be the doll.

He gets to his feet. “Eve? Do you want a drink?”

She looks up at him, the expression on her face saying that she’d forgotten he was even there. “Coke?” she asks. Grantaire just stares at her, one eyebrow raised, until she sighs. “Fine, apple juice please, Papa.”

He nods at her formally, making her giggle as she turns her attention back to Jehan’s long auburn hair. He turns to Combeferre and Enjolras. “Want anything?” he asks them.

Enjolras declines, but Combeferre says, “Sure, I’ll come with.”

Grantaire waits for him to fish out his wallet – ignoring Grantaire’s “I’ll pay” – and then they head across to the bar together.

While they wait for their drinks, Grantaire picks at the edge of the bar, and says in a small voice, “I was so worried that you all would-,” he breaks off, not sure how to finish.

Combeferre reaches out, putting his hand on top of Grantaire’s. “That we’d what? Turn you away? Call you awful for being a single dad?” Grantaire shrugs and Combeferre gives his hand a squeeze. “You don’t have to worry about judgement here, Grantaire.”

Grantaire stares at him for a moment, and then he nods. “Okay.”

Combeferre grabs his drink off the side and walks back to the table, leaving Grantaire staring after him, heat beating too fast. Oh, God, he is so _fucked_.

When he gets back, it’s to find that a line has built up in what he names the Hair Plaiting Machine. Evette is doing Jehan’s, while having hers done by Cosette, who’s having _hers_ done by a man with ginger hair who Grantaire swears wasn’t here a moment ago, who’s got Courfeyrac sitting behind him, attempting to plait the short strands of hair on his head.

Grantaire slides the apple juice over to Evette and it goes largely ignored.

Cosette at that moment screeches, letting go of Evette’s hair and clutching her head. “Marius!” she exclaims, glaring at the ginger man. “You’re plaiting my hair, not trying to rip it out!”

He blushes and stammers out an apology. Cosette rolls her eyes and goes back to plaiting Evette’s hair delicately. Marius seems a little at loss as what to do, but after a nudge from Courfeyrac he goes back to plaiting Cosette’s hair, this time taking a lot of care in not tugging.

Grantaire’s sure Marius doesn’t see, but he definitely notices the small smile that forms on Cosette’s face.

Joly leans over to him, saying in an undertone, “Those two are _hopeless._ They both are really into each other, but Cosette won’t say anything because _she_ wants Marius to ask _her_ out, and Marius will never say anything because _he_ thinks her way out of his league and that she’d _never_ like him in a million years.”

Grantaire laughs. “Have you tried talking to them about it?”

Joly glances over at them. “Courfeyrac tries at _least_ once a day.”

It’s a lot of fun, being with these people, and Grantaire comes to accept them as real friends, despite the fact that they’ve only met twice.

-

Enjolras barely notices the time passing until he hears Grantaire call his name. He looks across, startled and desperately trying to ignore the warmth that spreads through him at Grantaire saying his name. He catches the rest of the sentence, only just. “Do you want something to drink?”

He declines, smiling up at the man and shaking his head. Combeferre however wastes no time in saying that he’ll go with him, and Enjolras’ eyes widen as they both head over to the bar. Combeferre flashes a smile back at him, and Enjolras scrambles to smile back.

Next to him, Feuilly snorts, and Enjolras elbows him in the side. Feuilly’s the only person to know about Enjolras’… crush, to use an unbelievably trivial term.

Feuilly, unaffected by even Enjolras’ sharp elbows, leans in and catches Enjolras’ eye, nodding over to where Grantaire and Combeferre are now standing close to each other. “If you don’t make a move soon,” he says, just as Combeferre reaches out to put his hand on top of Grantaire’s, “you’ll never get the chance.”

Enjolras wishes that he could roll his eyes at that, but all he can manage to do is stare as Grantaire smiles up at Combeferre. Combeferre starts to head back over to the table, so Enjolras quickly looks away, but when he glances back, Grantaire’s staring after Combeferre in a way that Enjolras is very accustomed to doing.

He looks back at Feuilly. “I haven’t ‘made a move’ for the past thirteen years, what makes you think I would now?”

“Two reasons,” his friend says with a smug smile. “The first is jealousy. There’s a difference between not asking out someone you like, and seeing that someone happily dating someone else. He’s getting close to that. The second is that I think pretty soon you’re going to get tired of pretending.”

Enjolras scoffs. “ _Please_ ,” he says, lowering his voice as Combeferre sits down next to him, talking to Courfeyrac. “I know what I’m doing. I’m not about to ruin anything just because I can’t get a grip on myself.”

Feuilly raises an eyebrow, and Enjolras can tell he’s fighting the urge to laugh. “Your understanding of emotions is endearing,” he tells Enjolras before getting up and wandering away to the bar.

Enjolras glances at Grantaire, who’s listening as Joly whispers something to him, a smirk on his face.

Turning to Combeferre, he says, “Don’t you have the early shift tomorrow?”

 “Yeah, I’m trying not to think about it,” Combeferre replies, only half-joking as he grimaces. 

Enjolras laughs and nods, understandingly. “Well, we’ll just make sure we don’t stay too late.”

Combeferre pulls a face. “Why did I want to be a doctor?”

The only way to describe how Enjolras feels right now is fond. He smiles at his friend, saying, “Because you love it and you’re very good at it.”

Combeferre smiles, softly. “Oh, yeah.”

Enjolras chuckles. He’s a little distracted by Grantaire’s laughter, but then Combeferre leans in to excitedly tell him about this new medical discovery that might have been made in Germany. Some things never change, and Combeferre’s excitement about new things being discovered is one of them. (Another is how much Enjolras loves the way Combeferre’s eyes light up when he’s talking about his passions.)

Enjolras listens intently, subconsciously leaning in as Combeferre talks. Sometimes he asks questions because he wants to know, and other times it’s simply to see the way Combeferre will grin and seem to get even more animated about the subject.

He laughs, delighted, as Combeferre literally grabs his arm and says, “But this is _so good_ , Enjolras,” as though Enjolras simply doesn’t understand. Combeferre laughs too, as if he’s aware of his own ridiculousness.

Shaking his head affectionately, Enjolras grins, unable to stop himself.

-

When Evette starts yawning, at almost 9:30pm, Grantaire decrees that it’s time for them to leave; the fact that her protests are almost non-existent proves to him just how tired she is. He picks her up, letting her curl into his chest, and he says goodbye to the others. Most of them say goodbye to Evette, not to him, but the thought is still there.

Combeferre offers to walk him home, but Grantaire declines, telling him to enjoy his night. He wanted to accept the offer more than anything, but he didn’t want to inconvenience the man.

Evette falls asleep as they walk home and she barely stirs as he undresses her and tucks the blankets in around her, kissing her on the head gently and turning out the lights.

-

Grantaire goes to meet his friends again, this time taking Éponine with him, knowing that she needs some fun as much as he. They leave the kids with Charlene, Bahorel’s sister, who proved herself to be a pretty good sitter.

“You didn’t bring Evette?” Jehan asks when they arrive, sounding disappointed.

“I think you like her more than you like me,” Grantaire grumbles. “No, I didn’t bring her; Bahorel’s sister is looking after mine and Ép’s kids so we can have our well-deserved break.”

Éponine, standing beside him, grins. “Ain’t that the gospel truth,” she says, raising her hands towards heaven like she’s preaching. A few members of the group laugh as Grantaire sits down. “Right,” she says, still standing. “I’m having a beer. Water for R,” she starts to list, turning to Bahorel. “What do you want?” He asks for a beer and she nods once before she flounces away.

“Well she’s sure a whirlwind,” Courfeyrac says, staring after her, admiration in his voice.

Grantaire sighs. “You honestly have no idea.”

Éponine fits into the group so well it’s like she’s always been there, and it doesn’t take long for her to pick up on the way Grantaire stares at both Combeferre and Enjolras. She drags him off to the bar after an hour, demanding to know what’s going on.

He shrugs and tells her that nothing’s going on – which is the truth. He does admit, however, to be harbouring a mighty fine crush on both the men. She gives him a sympathetic smile and pats him on the shoulder. “Good luck with that,” she says, completely unhelpfully, before skipping back to the table to take part in a loud game of snap with Joly and Musichetta – it was ruled that Bossuet was not allowed to take part in snap ever, because the last time he played he broke a watch _and_ poked Enjolras in the eye.

-

Three days later, Grantaire’s working on a sketch of the view from his apartment window, just to pass the time, while Evette lies on the front room floor, singing and drawing too. His phone buzzes on the other side of the room, and he hops to his feet, heading over to see who it is.

An unknown number flashes up on his screen and he clicks on the text, curiously.

 **Hello Grantaire!!!** it begins. **I have procured your number from your giant friend and am cordially inviting you to a celebration of Disney. Bring the small human that you are in possession of to the following address at 6pm sharp. C. :D**

There is, as promised, an address at the end, and Grantaire frowns down at the text for a long moment.

In the end, he texts Bahorel.

**Who did you give my number to?? C???**

Bahorel replies within the minute, telling him that it’s Courfeyrac, and that he absolutely has to come to the movie night.

Grantaire thinks about it, glancing across at Evette. “Hey, ma belle, do you want to go and see my friends? The ones from the bar?”

Her face lights up. “Will Combeferre and Enjolras be there?”

“I don’t know. Most likely.”

She purses her lips. “Will Cosette be there? I want her to plait my hair again. She does it better than you.”

Grantaire laughs. “I don’t know who’ll be there, do you want to come, or not?”

Evette nods eagerly and Grantaire rolls his eyes at the little girl.

 **We’ll be there :)** he replies to Courfeyrac, saving the number into his phone.

He gets a string of exclamation points in response and nothing further. The general happiness that radiates from that man is nice.

-

By six, they are ready to go and they’re only running a little bit late. Okay, technically they’re supposed to be arriving around now, but for them, they’re practically on time.

Evette practically bounces in her seat on the bus, chattering excitedly. Grantaire only half listens to her mindless babble, nodding and humming when it seems appropriate. When they reach their stop, he takes Evette’s hand and leads her off the bus, her hair bouncing as she springs along next to him.

They get a smile from an old lady who’s getting on as they get off, and both Grantaire and Evette beam back.

The street’s a little crowded so Grantaire picks up Evette and puts her on his shoulders, holding her feet so she doesn’t kick anyone accidentally.

It’s almost half six when they arrive at what Grantaire assumes to be Courfeyrac’s apartment block. Evette insists on staying on his shoulders as they climb the stairs. She’s still up there as Grantaire knocks on the door and she tugs at his hair impatiently.

Bossuet is the one to open the door and his face splits into a wide grin, calling over his shoulder, “Look who showed up!”

Grantaire looks past him, where he can see directly into the living room, where the entire group seem to be sprawled out over the furniture. They all look his way, grinning and cheering.

Grantaire pulls Evette down off his shoulders, letting her skip off inside, and Bossuet pulls him into a warm hug as a greeting.

The two of them make their way into the living room, Grantaire noticing that Evette is already sitting on the sofa next to Enjolras as all his friends fuss over her. _God_ , he thinks, _she’s going to get so spoiled._

Grantaire squeezes in between Evette and Combeferre, who gives him a warm smile.

He notices Éponine sat on the floor with Musichetta, talking intently about something or other, and as he sits down, Éponine looks up and gives him a quick wave before going back to her conversation.

Various people call their greetings to Grantaire, and Courfeyrac sticks his head in through a door. “Hey, they’re here,” he observes. “Want anything to drink? We have… Pop, juice, water, uh, yeah that’s it, oh wait we also have beer.”

Evette looks up at her papa innocently and Grantaire sighs. “You can have one glass of pop, and after that you’re on juice, okay?”

She nods with a wide grin and jumps to her feet, grabbing Enjolras’ hand and pulling him with her. Enjolras goes, stumbling a little and shooting an alarmed look at Grantaire and Combeferre, who just laugh.

“Get me a coke, Eve!” Grantaire calls after her.

“Okay, Papa!” she replies.

Combeferre sniggers. “I think your daughter has a bit of a crush on Enjolras,” he says.

“Who doesn’t?” Grantaire jokes, also getting to his feet. “Do you know where the bathroom is?” he asks Combeferre.

Combeferre points him in the right direction and Grantaire leaves the room. As he leaves, he hears someone behind him sigh, “Oh, you poor thing,” and Combeferre reply, “Fuck off, Feuilly.”

Not having any clue what that was about Grantaire carries on his way.

When he gets back, Evette and Enjolras have reclaimed their place on the sofa, and Evette’s managing to drink her lemonade while still clutching at Enjolras’ hand.  Grantaire sits back down, accidentally leaning into Combeferre due to the lack of space, but Combeferre doesn’t pull away, so he lets his side rest against him.

-

A twisted feeling settles in Enjolras’ stomach when Grantaire comes back and settles into the sofa, leaning against Combeferre comfortably. In all honesty, Enjolras doesn’t know whether the action is on purpose or not, but it still hurts to see the smile that Combeferre flashes Grantaire at the contact.

When Courfeyrac comes in, carrying the popcorn, he passes it out and Joly kneels up. “Can we watch _Aladdin_?” Joly asks, excitedly. The others chime their agreement and Marius digs the DVD out of the pile and inserts it into the player.

They all sing along, naturally, but Bahorel – despite being tone deaf – really gives it his all, especially on Prince Ali and A Whole New World. Feuilly constantly makes attempts to shut Bahorel up but doesn’t succeed once. Grantaire’s laugh sounds out over their singing on numerous occasions, particularly when Éponine sang Diago’s part of Forget About Love word for word with Jehan singing Jasmine’s part, and Courfeyrac joining in as Aladdin quite perfectly.

Grantaire has a beautiful laugh, his whole body goes into it and his smile is blinding. God, Enjolras is way over his head. Every now and then, Enjolras catches sight of Combeferre smiling too, either at the screen, or at Grantaire. He’s a little unsure of what feeling fills him when Combeferre smiles at Grantaire.

Evette lights up as Jehan and Courfeyrac sing, delighted by their beautiful duet.

After that, they put on _The Road to El Dorado_ , (“This isn’t Disney!” Courfeyrac protests; he’s outvoted almost unanimously) the group chiming in on, “And _then_ we go back to Spain,” and other such classic lines. Evette giggles at rather odd times, finding the most unusual moments hysterical, and Enjolras grins down at her every time. She’s completely adorable, and it’s not just because of the way her dark curls and blue eyes remind him of Grantaire.

When that film comes to an end, Evette bounces up and down, saying, “Can we watch _Enchanted_? Please, please, _please_!”

No one wants to say no to the excitable little girl, and besides, everyone loves that film.

A little while into the film, Evette is leaning back against Enjolras heavily while he distractedly plays with a strand of her hair. Her head rests against his chest while she watches the movie intently. When Giselle spins around while singing, her dress fanning out with a smile on her face, Evette says, “She's pretty.”

Bahorel bursts out laughing, exclaiming, “Oh, Grantaire, you've raised a tiny queer.”

Grantaire rolls his eyes at him and Enjolras stifles a laugh. “What's a queer?” the little girl on his knee asks.

Grantaire smiles at her, and Enjolras stomach does at least three flips. “Well, chérie, remember that conversation we had about me being attracted to people of all genders?”

Evette nods, looking up at him with her big, blue eyes and Enjolras can’t take his eyes off Grantaire either.

“Well that's a type of 'queer',” Grantaire explains, voice and expression equally soft. “I'm queer. It's only one, though. If you want, we can talk all about it tomorrow,” he promises her.

She purses her lips, thinking hard. “Am I queer?” she asks, and Enjolras grins down at her.

Grantaire laughs. “You've got plenty of time to work that out for yourself, Eve.”

She tilts her head on its side for a second and Courfeyrac laughs, saying “Oh, R, she looks just like you when she does that.” Enjolras has to agree that she does. It’s faintly adorable.

She then says, "Okay then," as she turns her attention back to the film.

Grantaire smiles down at his little girl, and Enjolras watches the fond expression on the man’s face. Grantaire glances up unexpectedly and their eyes lock for a moment. Evette wriggles off Enjolras’ knee, though keeping hold of his hand, and curls up to her papa. Enjolras grins at Grantaire, thinking that this crush is getting out of hand, before his eyes also slide back to the screen, watching as the woman sings happily.

Bahorel then says, “Don't worry ma puce, you’re prettier than the princess,” and Enjolras gears up to explain that women are equally beautiful and that you should never put a woman down to compliment another, when Evette frowns at him.

“It's not a competition, Uncle Bahorel,” she informs him and Enjolras’ face breaks into a grin.

Bahorel raises an eyebrow, and then he bursts into laughter. “Right you are, Ettie.”

It’s odd how proud Enjolras feels of Evette in that moment, considering he’s little more than an acquaintance to her or her papa.

“Can I call you Uncle Bahorel, Uncle Bahorel?”

“No, Courf,” the whole room says at once, in the exact same despairing tone. Courfeyrac dissolves into laughter and Evette shushes him. (“Yeah, Courfeyrac, listen to the little girl,” Marius says distractedly, his eyes not leaving the screen.)

A short while later Evette pulls away from her papa and curls up with her head on Enjolras' side. She looks back at Grantaire with a grin, while Enjolras subconsciously wraps an arm around her. Grantaire gives her a pretend hurt look in return, making both her and Enjolras laugh. Grantaire looks up at him, smiling, and though it hurts Enjolras’ heart that Grantaire is almost entirely leaning on Combeferre now, Enjolras smiles back.

Grantaire ends up falling asleep, and so does Evette. Enjolras carefully strokes Evette’s hair as she sleeps, flopped across his lap, but every now and then he sneaks glances at the sleeping Grantaire. Combeferre’s arm is wrapped around the artist’s waist, while Grantaire’s head rests on the doctor’s shoulder. He tries to focus on the movie, but he can’t help but smile over at them every now and then.

It’s an unusual feeling – both jealousy and adoration mingled into one. Seeing them curled up together makes his heart pound and he wants to snuggle up to them too.

When Grantaire finally stirs, Combeferre looks down at him. “You alright?” Combeferre whispers, smiling just a little. Enjolras sneaks another look at them, watching the way they smile at each other.

Grantaire murmurs, “Yeah,” back, and wriggles closer into Combeferre’s touch. His eyes slide across to Enjolras, and their gaze meets. Enjolras licks his lips and bites the lower one without thinking and quickly averts his eyes.

Enjolras stares determinedly at the screen, and he hears Grantaire groan. “Oh, God, it’s half eleven.”

Enjolras continues to not look at them, but listens to their whispered conversation.

 “I mean,” Combeferre whispers, “technically she is asleep.” Enjolras tries his hardest not to giggle at that.

 “God, buses don’t even run this late,” Grantaire replies. 

“We could give you a lift,” Enjolras offers immediately, looking over at them now.

Combeferre nods, and Grantaire looks between the two of them. “You could?”

“Yeah,” Combeferre says.

“Thank you,” Grantaire whispers, and Enjolras heart clenches at the bright smile that Grantaire gives Combeferre.

Clambering to his feet, Grantaire stretches. His shirt rides up a little, revealing a stripe of skin, and the moan he makes suddenly makes Enjolras feel warmer all over. Grantaire turns round to carefully lift Evette off Enjolras’ lap, letting her snuggle into his chest as she continues to snore softly. Combeferre and Enjolras get up too, whispering their thanks to Courfeyrac and Marius for hosting as they follow Grantaire to the door. The ones who are still awake wave goodbye.

Out on the street, Evette shivers and stirs in Grantaire’s arms. “We going home, Papa?” she mumbles, eyes still closed.

“Yes we are, chérie,” he replies.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye to ‘jolras,” she whines, and Enjolras once again tries not to laugh. He barely manages this time, and when Grantaire looks up at him his eyes are shining with mirth.

Enjolras shakes Evette’s shoulder a little. “I’m still here, Ettie. I’m giving you a lift home.”

Evette looks up at him, eyes bleary, and she gives him a big, but tired, smile. “Hey, Enjolras.”

Combeferre laughs and says, “I’m not really feeling the love right now.”

Evette’s eyes find him too, then, and she smirks. “Hey, Combeferre.”

Combeferre grins back at her and says, “Let’s get you home, alright, Ettie?”

Combeferre climbs into the driver’s seat of his car, Enjolras sliding into the passenger seat, and Grantaire carries Evette into the back seat, keeping her on his lap. The drive is mostly silent, save for when Grantaire gives directions to his home.

Enjolras can’t stop thinking about either of the two men in the car.

“This is me,” Grantaire says quietly when they turn down his street, at long last. He points out the building, and Combeferre pulls up outside.

When Combeferre gets out to hold open Grantaire’s door, Enjolras throat constricts.

He watches as Combeferre helps Grantaire inside the building, the silence in the car ringing in his ears.

-

Combeferre gets out first, holding open Grantaire’s door for him as Grantaire carefully clambers from the car, holding Evette in his arms. Combeferre closes the door behind him, and without a word he falls into step beside Grantaire as they walk to the front door of the apartment block.

Going through the doors, Grantaire quietly says, “You don’t need to come upstairs with me.”

Combeferre shakes his head. “It’s no trouble,” he replies.

After they’ve climbed the stairs, Grantaire passes his key to Combeferre so the other man can open his front door. Combeferre leads the way into Grantaire’s apartment, looking around, and then opening the door that Grantaire gestures at.

Combeferre stands back as Grantaire tucks his little girl in and then they both quietly back out of the room, shutting the door behind them.

There’s a short awkward pause in which they just look at each other in the darkened hallway.

“I’d, uh, offer you a drink, but-,” Grantaire starts, finishing his sentence with a short shrug instead of words. 

Combeferre looks at him with his dark eyes, and then takes a step forward, crowding into his space carefully. His hand comes up, brushing a strand of Grantaire’s hair from his face. Grantaire’s stopped breathing properly by this point, gazing up at Combeferre, dumb-struck.

“Grantaire?” Combeferre whispers. “Can I kiss you?”

Grantaire blinks, his lips parting slightly, and then he nods, eyes not moving from Combeferre’s.

Combeferre smiles as he moves even closer to Grantaire, one hand coming to rest lightly on Grantaire’s waist.

Grantaire’s breath stutters as Combeferre brushes their lips together gently, and his hand comes up to rest on the back of the doctor’s neck. Grantaire kisses him back, adding pressure to the kiss, and his eyelids flutter closed.

Combeferre pulls away first saying quietly, “I should probably go.” Grantaire hums softly under his breath, still less than an inch away from Combeferre. “Enjolras is sitting in my car.”

Grantaire yanks back abruptly, and the two of them stare at each other for a second before Grantaire bursts into giggles. “Oh, my God, go,” Grantaire says, lightly pushing him in the direction of the door. “I forgot about him.”

Combeferre can’t seem to stop smiling, and as he goes out the door, he wraps his fingers around Grantaire’s wrist and pulls him in for another kiss. Grantaire laughs against his lips, feeling on top of the world, and he can feel Combeferre grinning back. “I’ll call you?” Combeferre asks, hesitantly.

Grantaire nods. “Yes, call me. Wait, you don’t have my number.”

Combeferre pulls away and grins widely at him as he turns to grab a pen off the side. He grabs hold of Combeferre’s arm and pushes the sleeve up, scrawling his number onto his skin. Combeferre stares at the digits scribbled onto his arm until Grantaire laughs, pushing Combeferre out the door. “Go on,” he says. “Enjolras is going to think you got lost.”

Combeferre laughs, the sound echoing in the small quiet hallway. Grantaire leans up against his doorpost, smiling at the man. Combeferre gives him one last smile before he disappears down the stairs.

Grantaire slips back inside his apartment, closing the door behind him and leaning up against the wood, smiling and squeezing his eyes shut tightly, determined not to forget this feeling.

He’s not feeling tired at all, and when he collapses into his bed, he lies awake for hours just smiling up at the ceiling.

-

He has to tell Combeferre, he just has to. Feuilly was right. If he doesn’t speak up now, he’s going to lose him, and clearly Feuilly was also right that the realisation of that is so much worse than simply choosing not to say anything.

Combeferre’s gone for a long time, and Enjolras gets more and more on edge as the time passes. When Combeferre re-appears, walking back over to the car, Enjolras is resolved. He has to say something.

As soon as Combeferre gets in the car he says, “I need to talk to you about something.”

Combeferre doesn’t seem to hear him, slamming the door behind him as he climbs into the car. A big grin is plastered across his face, and Enjolras freezes.

Enjolras then says, “Are you- Is everything alright?”

Combeferre stares straight ahead, hands on the steering wheel, but suddenly he turns to look at Enjolras. “I just kissed Grantaire,” he tells him in a hushed voice, though there’s no one to overhear them.

Enjolras’ jaw drops. A stunned silence fills the car and Enjolras struggles to find something to say. He’s too late. He didn’t say anything for thirteen years, and now he’s too late. “H- How was it?” he asks at last.

Combeferre gives him an odd look, but he’s beaming so he obviously doesn’t think about the question that much. “It was… really good. I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he admits, and Enjolras fights to pretend he’s not dying inside.

“Oh,” is all Enjolras can manage.

Combeferre, however, blunders on, “I mean he told me to call him and gave me his number; that’s good, right? I’m pretty sure he’s interested; he seemed pretty happy, and I- sorry, I’m rambling. Let’s go home.”

Enjolras smiles, but it’s weak, and he says feebly, “No, I’m- I’m glad you’re happy. I really do think he likes you. It’s- It’ll be good, the two of you.”

Combeferre gives him a wide smile as he starts the engine.

When they get back to their flat, Enjolras tells him that he’s feeling pretty tired and heads straight to bed. He curls up in his bed, under the duvet and wills himself not to cry.

-

When he wakes up in the morning, he’d have thought that his first thought would be of Combeferre. Oddly though, the first thing he remembers about the previous night is Enjolras, grinning down at Evette’s giggling. Grantaire’s heart skips a couple of beats and he grins into his pillow.

Then he remembers the kiss – or kisses, to be more accurate.

He rolls onto his back and frowns, confusion overwhelming him.

He needs to talk to someone. Running through his list of options, none seem too helpful. Evette: six. Éponine: more likely to laugh and pat him on the head than come up with something genuinely helpful. Bahorel: pretty fucking useless at relationships. Combeferre or Enjolras: the people that are causing this issue.

In the end, he calls Courfeyrac.

“Hello, my newest friend- actually, no, that’s not true. I met this lovely girl this morning and we’re going out for coffee later. She’s technically my newest friend. Let’s start over. Hello, my friend!” Courfeyrac says. “How can I assist you on this fine day?”

He doesn’t bother building up to it, nor does he even try to sugar-coat it, simply blurting out, “I kissed Combeferre and can’t stop thinking about Enjolras.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Courfeyrac says, “Meet me at mine ASAP.”

“Got it,” Grantaire answers before hanging up.

He drops Evette off at Éponine’s en route, saying he’ll be back soon for her.

He knocks once and the door opens instantly, as though Courfeyrac had been standing behind it, waiting for him. Courfeyrac grabs him and yanks him through to the living room where almost all their friends are standing.

“Oh, my God,” Grantaire groans. “Courf, no. Did you tell the whole fucking town?”

“Sit down, Grantaire,” Courfeyrac says, pushing him onto the sofa.

Musichetta, Joly, and Bossuet are sitting on the floor, with Bahorel, Feuilly, and Jehan standing behind them. Cosette and Marius are sitting in an armchair. All of them are staring at him.

“Tell us what happened.”

Grantaire breathes out heavily. “Right, okay. So, Enjolras and Combeferre drove Eve and I home last night, and Combeferre helped me take Eve up to my flat. While we were up there, he kissed me.” He watches their faces for reactions, but none of them move. “It was good, you know? Like, I know that I wanted him to kiss me, so... that’s good. But then I couldn’t stop thinking about Enjolras, and how I… want him to kiss me too?” He chews at his lip as he stares back at his friends.

Everyone is silent, taking in what they just heard. Jehan’s the first to crack, a giggle bursting out of him suddenly. He claps a hand over his mouth, but his eyes are still shining with mirth as he says, “I can’t believe Combeferre kissed you.”

Courfeyrac laughs too, then. “Has anyone ever heard of Combeferre kissing anyone before? Because Goddamn I’m his best friend and he’s never even talked about liking someone before.”

Cosette laughs at that, a dainty sound, and she says, “I always thought he had a thing for Enjolras.”

“I did too!” at least three people say, though Grantaire’s not sure who.

Musichetta gets to her feet and moves to where she can see them all. “Okay, people. Here’s what I have: Grantaire likes both Combeferre and Enjolras. Combeferre likes Grantaire and most likely Enjolras. Enjolras we’re not certain about, but from the way he was smiling over at R and Ferre cuddling last night, I think we can be sure he likes them too. I fucking hate love triangles, but what I do love is polyamory.”

Joly and Bossuet chime in with an, “Amen!” to that.

Cosette and Jehan laugh again.

“You- You mean that-,” Grantaire tries to say but fails.

“I mean that the three of you should date,” Musichetta states clearly.

Bahorel, who up until this point has been silent, says, “I agree.” Grantaire looks sharply at him, and Bahorel explains, “R, I know you don’t date because you’re busy looking after Ettie, right? But these guys are good people who both like you and Enjolras is fantastic with your girl.”

Grantaire can’t deny it.

“This could be really good for you, R,” Bahorel says.

“Or it could be catastrophic,” Grantaire shoots back.

Bahorel sighs. “For once, R, I’m going to need you to put aside your cynicism and go for something that will make you happy.”

Grantaire’s phone starts ringing at that moment, and he picks up, glancing at the unknown number ID for only a second. The person on the other end starts talking almost instantly. “I know saying I’ll call and then calling literally the next day is a bit clingy, but hey, I can’t help it. Do you want to meet for coffee?” Grantaire smiles down at his hands, unable to give a response for a second, and Combeferre then says, “Grantaire? Please say something.”

Grantaire says quietly, “Hi, Combeferre.”

He hears the smile in Combeferre’s voice when he replies, “Hi, Grantaire.”

“So, coffee?” Grantaire prompts.

“That’s the plan, yes,” Combeferre agrees.

“Sounds good,” Grantaire says.

“Meet me at the _Corinthe_ at… One-ish?” Combeferre asks.

“I’ll be there,” Grantaire promises.

There’s a short moment of silence, and then Combeferre says, “I can’t wait,” and hangs up.

Grantaire knows he’s outright grinning as he pulls the phone away from his ear.

Musichetta starts giggling first, and as Grantaire fills them in her smile gets wider. “Damn, I wish I hadn’t taken the day off.”

“You _own_ the café,” Joly reminds her. “You can just show up, you know?”

-

Enjolras’ day doesn’t start out great, and it only worsens when Combeferre tells him he’s going out, adding excitedly, “On a _date_. With _Grantaire_.”

He seems so happy and Enjolras can’t take that away from him, so he simply glances up from his laptop with a smile. “Have fun!” he says with as much enthusiasm as he can muster. His smile freezes on his face as he looks at Combeferre because he’s looking particularly good. The thought of Combeferre taking the time to make himself look nice to go out with someone makes Enjolras’ smile drop completely; he must really like Grantaire. Luckily, Combeferre’s already turned away and is out the door, not noticing Enjolras’ change of expression.

The rest of the day passes slowly. The ticking of the clock is abhorrently loud. Time ticks by in second by second reminders that Combeferre is out with Grantaire.

1pm: they’re probably meeting, maybe they hug. Grantaire probably looks really nice, and he knows Combeferre does. Perhaps they went to a café; maybe Combeferre buys Grantaire a drink.

1.05pm: Grantaire’s laughing at one of Combeferre’s ridiculous jokes. Combeferre thinks about how carefree and beautiful Grantaire looks when he laughs.

1.10pm: they probably aren’t noticing the time go past in such excruciating detail.

1.12pm: this is nothing short of torture.

Enjolras gets to his feet and paces the apartment a few times. He can’t bear this.

1.30pm: they probably have no shortage of things to talk about. _When will Combeferre get back?_

1.40pm: it feels like the clock is mocking him, each tick reminding him _it’s not you, it’s not you, it’s not you_. Combeferre might hold Grantaire’s hand. He might tell him something interesting about his work. He might-

His phone rings. It’s Courfeyrac.

“Oh, thank God,” Enjolras exclaims as soon as he picks up the phone. “Talk to me. Talk at me. I don’t care about what just give me something to distract myself with.”

“I’m outside your door,” Courfeyrac replies.

“Yep, that’ll do it,” Enjolras says, and then he hangs up, tossing his phone onto the sofa and going to let Courfeyrac in.

“How’re you holding up, kiddo?” is the first thing that Courfeyrac says as soon as he gets through the door, quickly followed by a, “Your doorbell is broken.” He strips himself of his coat, throwing it onto the nearest surface and kicks off his shoes, continuing into the living room to collapse onto the sofa.

“What do you mean?” Enjolras asks. Does Courfeyrac know? How could Courfeyrac know? Internally Enjolras panics, wondering if Combeferre could possibly know too. Courfeyrac’s never been good at keeping secrets from either him or Combeferre.

“What do I mean… your doorbell’s broken? I mean, it’s pretty self-explanitor-”

“Fuck off,” Enjolras says, not snappishly.

Courfeyrac pulls a face and says, “Well, the man you’re in love with is currently on a date with the man you’re crushing quite spectacularly on.”

Enjolras lets out a heavy sigh and falls onto the sofa beside his best friend. “How did you know?” he asks, sullenly.

Courfeyrac gives him a sympathetic smile. “I’m a physic,” he tells him.

Enjolras laughs, but barely. He stares down at his hands. “I’m in love with Combeferre,” he says quietly, realising that he’s never really said it out loud before.

“And what about Grantaire?” Courfeyrac asks, wriggling nearer to him on the sofa.

“I don’t know,” Enjolras replies. Then he frowns. “When I see him… I get this feeling like, like, I’m either going to fall or fly.”

“Oh, Enj,” Courfeyrac murmurs as he pulls him in for a hug. Enjolras leans against him, letting Courfeyrac wrap his arms around him.

Combeferre’s a good hugger, but Courfeyrac has this way of wrapping you in his arms and making you feel like nothing can get to you.

“So, what are you going to do about it?” Courfeyrac asks him.

Enjolras thinks about it. There’s really only one option. “Nothing,” he says, decisively. Courfeyrac frowns in surprise. “I’m not going to do anything,” Enjolras repeats. “When Combeferre left this morning I’ve never seen him look so excited about anything. He’s so happy, and I can’t ruin that.”

Courfeyrac lets out a whine that sounds almost despairing. “And what about _your_ happiness?” he asks.

“Me?” Enjolras asks. “I’m fine. I can be happy for them.”

Courfeyrac gives him a disbelieving look.

“I _can_!” Enjolras protests.

 _I have to_.

-

Grantaire’s a little late to the café. He makes it to there at about ten past one.

After the impromptu get-together with his friends and the phone call from Combeferre, he’d rushed over to Éponine’s to ask her to look after Evette for a little longer, oh, and also to tell her what happened. She’d been so excited and they’d talked for ages. It hadn’t been until five to one that she’d looked over at the clock and let out a death screech. She’d all but pushed him out the door, screaming, “Run, Grantaire, run!”

She had then burst into giggles, of course, completely ruining the effect.

Still, Grantaire had run, and by the time he reached the café he was sufficiently out of breath.

He walks through the door, running a hand through his hair and attempting to slow his breathing down. He doesn’t see Combeferre at first, so he heads to the counter, behind which stands Musichetta. She quickly moves over to him, hissing, “He’s been here for twenty minutes, where were you?” at him as she spins him round and pushes him in the right direction.

He notices Combeferre then, not facing the door, and he takes a deep breath before going over. He flops down in the seat opposite Combeferre and says, “I’m so sorry, I had to go check on Eve, she’s with Éponine, and I lost track of time, have you been here long?”

Combeferre starts smiling almost immediately, dropping the book he had been reading onto the table, and lies, “No, I was a little late too.”

Grantaire pretends he doesn’t know the lie and nods in an understanding fashion. “I’m pretty much late to everything. It’s a tough life.”

Combeferre laughs and Grantaire relaxes at the sound. “Can I buy you a drink?” Combeferre asks, and Grantaire accepts.

They leave their coats on the backs of chairs, along with Combeferre’s book and bag, to claim the table, and then they both head over to the counter.

Musichetta practically glows at the sight of them chatting and laughing as they make their way towards the counter. Combeferre blushes a bit as she serves them, with a knowing look. She grins at him, and he mumbles, “It’s a new thing.”

“Yes, I could tell,” she answers dryly, with a wink at them both.

Grantaire chuckles and Combeferre goes an even brighter red.

The date goes well, they never once run out of things to talk about, and Grantaire really likes the way Combeferre’s laugh sounds. They sit for hours, taking it in turns to buy coffee and cake.

At one point Joly and Bossuet come into the little café and apparently can’t resist coming over to say hello, staying for an awkward length of time and acting like they don’t know it’s a date. Combeferre raises an eyebrow at Grantaire when Joly says, “So what are you two doing here alone?” and Grantaire snorts into his coffee.

Eventually Grantaire says, “Guys, go away,” sounding desperate but not being able to stop laughing.

Both of their friends burst out laughing, dropping their pretence and wandering away to their girlfriend with a, “Have fun on your date, boys,” called over their shoulders.

Combeferre can’t help but laugh at that, looking at Grantaire and saying, “So I assume everyone knows?”

Grantaire blushes. “I might have told one or two people.”

Combeferre grins. “I told Enjolras, too, no worries.”

When Grantaire glances at his phone to check the time for the third time in five minutes, Combeferre laughs. “Go on, you best get back to Ettie.”

Grantaire beams. “This has been so nice, Combeferre,” he says, getting to his feet.

“Well, we’ll do it again soon,” Combeferre promises.

Combeferre walks him out the café, nodding at Musichetta on the way. They pause outside the café. “I’m this way,” Grantaire says, awkwardly, pointing to their left.

“I’m the other,” Combeferre says, nodding his head to the right.

They stand there for another moment, until Grantaire laughs softly and says, “Fuck it,” taking Combeferre’s hands and standing on his tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to his lips. Combeferre kisses back and when they break apart he’s smiling. Grantaire is too. “I’ll see you around,” Grantaire says. Combeferre nods, leaning down and pressing another kiss to his lips.

“I don’t know if this is weird to say, but I really like kissing you,” Combeferre tells him.

Grantaire laughs and gives him one last kiss in response. “I like kissing you too.”

-

Eyes closed, music playing loudly, Enjolras sprawls across the sofa and focusses on breathing in and out carefully. Courfeyrac had had to go, and Combeferre’s still not back from the date, so Enjolras had to find his own means of calming down.

If that meant that he lay down for a while with soothing music playing, then so be it.

He hears the door handle turning and he takes one last deep breath before sitting up and turning to Combeferre with a smile. Combeferre’s smiling, seemingly uncontrollably, and Enjolras flicks the music off.

“Where you just listening to Chopin?” Combeferre asks with a smile.

Enjolras shrugs. “Uh, yeah, I needed to relax,” he says. Then, because it’s going to come up eventually, he asks, “How was the date?”

He’s fairly sure he’s got the fake-smile perfected, though perhaps he doesn’t because he’s certain he sees Combeferre’s smile falter for a second before he gushes, “It was _perfect_.”

“Oh,” Enjolras says, and he can barely call his tone polite interest, let alone a genuine reaction.

Luckily for him, Combeferre carries the conversation. “We went to the _Corinthe_ and we just talked for hours, Enj,” Combeferre says happily, coming to sit on the sofa with Enjolras. “He’s so incredible, we just _click_. Oh, God, I sound like a teenager, I just really think I like him, Enjolras.” 

Enjolras fakes a laugh that he thinks sounds real enough, and replies, “Clearly. I’ve never heard you talk about a crush before.”

“Is it too early to say it’s more than a crush?” Combeferre asks, looking at him with sincerity.

Despite how much this conversation is tearing into him, Enjolras actually does smile then. Combeferre’s sudden delicate sweetness is so much more than endearing, and Enjolras shrugs. “I don’t know, Ferre,” he says. “I guess that’s all down to how you feel.”

Combeferre smiles brightly. “Oh, I’ve never felt like this about anybody, except, well-” he breaks off suddenly, blushing bright red for reasons that Enjolras can’t name.

Enjolras elbows him in the side, playing up the teasing best friend role, because that’s easier than anything. “Except _who_?” he asks, with a grin.

Combeferre just continues to blush and stammer, and Enjolras laughs. So, it hurts that Combeferre’s crushing very badly on Grantaire, and it hurts that clearly there was someone else also very dear to Combeferre’s heart that wasn’t Enjolras, but even with all that, Enjolras is still Combeferre’s best friend, and he’ll take that over nothing any day.

-

Grantaire gets back from picking up Evette and sets about making them both dinner straight away. As he stirs the pasta, he calls through to the living room. “Hey, Eve, can you come here a second?”

She appears in the doorway almost instantly. “What is it, Papa?”

He turns to face her. “You remember Combeferre?” She nods. “Today he and I went out for coffee together. On a date.”

She seems to think it over for a moment. “You’re dating Combeferre?”

He nods. “Yes, I suppose I am.” He’s actually not sure, after all they have only been on one date, but Grantaire feels good about his chances and he wants Evette to know straight from the off. This is simpler than explaining that he doesn’t really know.

She grins and nods. “Okay then.”

As they sit at the dinner table, Grantaire listening to Evette tell him all about what Gavroche said to Azelma, he gets a text. When he sees it’s from Courfeyrac and it starts with ‘I talked to Enjolras’, he puts it back in his pocket to look at later.

When he does finally work up the courage to read it, he’s sitting on the fire escape, outside his bedroom window. He takes a deep breath.

**I talked to Enjolras. Confirmed: he’s in love with Combeferre. He doesn’t know how he feels about you. He described it as an ‘I’m either going to fall or fly’ sort of sensation. Recommended course of action: talk to Combeferre about this.**

Grantaire stares at the text for a long time. He doesn’t reply.

-

Enjolras lets himself get distracted with work for a few days, constantly writing and reading and not thinking about Combeferre and Grantaire. Combeferre and he don’t really talk much, though there’s nothing awkward about it; sometimes that just happens. Combeferre’s at the hospital and Enjolras isn’t really being a human being.

Combeferre sticks his head into his room one afternoon and says, “We’re going to Courf and Marius’ tonight.”

Enjolras looks up in curiosity. “Just us or the whole motley crew?”

Combeferre gives him a smile – a beautiful, disarming, smile. “The whole lot of us.”

Enjolras smiles back and tries not to think about how that will definitely include Grantaire. “Sounds great. Give me a ten minute warning before we go.”

Combeferre drives them and Enjolras taps on his knee erratically, feeling the nerves building in his stomach. It’s so much harder than he’d imagined and the thought of being around Grantaire and Combeferre at the same time makes him anxious beyond belief.

Grantaire isn’t there when they arrive, however, and Enjolras grabs a beer from the kitchen and downs it pretty quickly. Courfeyrac raises an eyebrow at him, though he doesn’t comment, and Enjolras snaps, “Yes I know it’s a bad coping mechanism. It’s just one night. Sue me.” Courfeyrac simply raises his hands in surrender, and Enjolras feels guilty for snapping, but he doesn’t apologise. He then grabs a soft drink and goes to sit on the sofa with Combeferre, his mind already pleasantly duller.

When Grantaire arrives, bringing Evette with him, he can’t help the initial happiness that floods through him at the sight of the man, and he smiles over at him, the smile dying when he notices Combeferre get up to go hug him in greeting.

 “Are you Papa’s boyfriend?” Evette demands attracting everyone’s attention as she looks up at Combeferre with sharp eyes. Enjolras doesn’t even lie to himself that he’s holding his breath for the answer.

Combeferre looks a little afraid, glancing across at Grantaire for a second, but then says, “Yes. I am. Is that okay with you?”

Enjolras squeezes his eyes shut and counts to four, breathing in and out slowly.

He hears Evette say, “Yes, it is,” and he opens his eyes to see his best friend and the little girl grinning at each other.

He can’t take this.

He’s on his feet in seconds, mumbling something to Courfeyrac, though he’s not sure what excuse he managed to come up with, and he leaves the room quickly. He’s fully aware how obvious it likely was, but he just doesn’t care.

He couldn’t stay there for a second longer.

-

“What was that about?” Combeferre whispers to Grantaire.

“It’s hard to explain,” Grantaire replies.

“Is it something I need to know about?”

Grantaire pulls a face and nods, “Yeah.” He takes Combeferre’s hand and says to Evette, “Are you going to be okay with the others for a little while?”

She nods enthusiastically, so Grantaire pulls Combeferre from the room and out onto Courfeyrac and Marius’ little balcony.

Combeferre sits down on the step while Grantaire paces up and down the small stone area. “Okay,” Grantaire says, and then hums under his breath. “Okay.” He sighs. “This is- I know that we’ve only been on one date, and we haven’t had the dating conversation, even though you just told my little girl that you’re my boyfriend, though I mean, that could just be convenience, and well, this is a little sensitive-”

“Grantaire,” Combeferre interrupts, getting to his feet and taking Grantaire’s hands, forcing him to stop pacing. “You’re making me nervous. What’s wrong?”

“Enjolras is in love with you,” he blurts out.

Combeferre drops his hands instantly and Grantaire forces his eyes shut. He hears Combeferre sit back down on the step. “You’re certain?” Combeferre asks, quietly.

Grantaire looks down at him and nods. “Courfeyrac told me.”

“Why hasn’t Enjolras said anything? He never- I didn’t know- I-”

“How long have you been in love with him?” Grantaire interrupts, making Combeferre fall silent instantly.

Grantaire goes to sit down next to Combeferre, and the man instantly reaches for his hand. Grantaire allows it, letting their fingers link together. Grantaire leans against Combeferre, his head falling onto his shoulder. Combeferre presses a kiss to Grantaire’s hair. He sighs. “A long time.”

Grantaire nods, feeling numb. “Maybe you should tell him.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” Combeferre asks, and when Grantaire glances up at him, there are tears steadily filling his eyes.

Grantaire kisses Combeferre, pulling away and running his fingers down the side of his face gently. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

Combeferre breathes out sharply. “Of course I don’t want you to. I- I’m not in love with you, but, fuck, this is not a one-date sort of conversation but I really like you, Grantaire, and I could see myself falling in love with you. I wanted to kiss you the first time we met and yes that was barely two weeks ago but I don’t want to lose you. You’re funny, kind, a wonderful dad, and God, when you came into the hospital, you were downright _adorable_.”

“I don’t want to lose you either,” Grantaire says instantly. Combeferre pulls him into a hug and Grantaire buries his face in his neck. “You love Enjolras, though,” Grantaire points out.

Combeferre hums his agreement. “Yes, and I’m not sure if that’s going to go away.”

Grantaire pulls back. “What if I don’t want it to go away?”

Combeferre frowns. “Why wouldn’t you?”

Grantaire looks down at his feet as he says in a rush, “Because maybe I like Enjolras too?”

Combeferre freezes. They stare at each other for a long moment. “You do?” Combeferre asks, uncertainly.

Grantaire nods. “I’m sorry, it’s just, he’s so- I mean, you’ve seen him with Eve, right? And when he smiles, fuck, Combeferre. He’s nice, and he’s- I can’t explain it.”

He expects Combeferre to look upset, at least a little, but instead Combeferre’s nodding. “I know what you mean. I know exactly what you mean.” He laughs softly. “God, are we both in love with Enjolras?”

“I think so,” Grantaire whines. Then he shakes his head. “But I feel exactly the same way about you; I want you to know that.”

Combeferre leans in to kiss him again. Grantaire can feel tears prick his eyes as he holds Combeferre tightly. “Me too,” Combeferre says. “Me too.”

Grantaire pulls back, and Combeferre wipes under his eyes for him. “God, we’re just hot messes right now, aren’t we?” Grantaire laughs. Combeferre laughs too.

“What are we going to do?” Combeferre asks.

Grantaire jumps to his feet, pulling Combeferre up with him and he glances through the window, to where he can see Enjolras and Courfeyrac coming back into the room. “Well first you’re going to kiss me,” he tells Combeferre, who willingly obliges, “and then we’re going to go back inside and act as though nothing is wrong at all. Make sure you don’t sit next to me. You sit on one side of Enj, I’ll sit on the other, and Eve can sit on his knee.”

Combeferre starts to smile a little. “Isn’t that mean?”

“Nope. If you can manage it, maybe fall asleep on his shoulder. Hey, by the end of the night we might have the whole family asleep on him.” Grantaire laughs, mentally picturing Enjolras sitting there with three humans asleep on him.

Combeferre’s face softens. “The whole family?” he echoes.

Grantaire hadn’t realised what he’d said, but he can’t bring himself to take it back. “The whole family,” he confirms. “Sorry, no backing out on me and Eve. We have abandonment issues,” he jokes.

Combeferre leans in to kiss him, but Grantaire puts his hand over Combeferre’s mouth. “That’s not part of the plan.”

Combeferre laughs, the noise muffled by Grantaire’s hand, and he pushes Grantaire’s hand away, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him in for a kiss.

-

Enjolras keeps moving until he’s out on the front steps of the building, where he collapses and sits down hard on the concrete steps. It doesn’t take long for someone to come after him.

“What happened?” Courfeyrac asks, sitting down next to him on the cold steps and putting an arm around him.

Enjolras stares at the floor, wishing that it would just swallow him whole, and then maybe things wouldn’t hurt so much. “I’m in love with Grantaire,” he whispers. Then he covers his face with his hands. “I’m the most ridiculous person on the planet,” he moans. “First I fall in love with my best friend, and then I fall in love with my best friend’s boyfriend.”

Courfeyrac leans against him, resting his head on his shoulder. Enjolras presses their heads together while he stares at nothing in despair. “I thought I could handle it,” he admits. “I really thought I could be happy for them. But seeing them together, hearing it out loud, it’s just too much, Courf. I just, I love them both so much.”

“Want to hear a fact?” Courfeyrac whispers, continuing without waiting for an answer. “Falling in love is not an independent emotion.”

Enjolras lifts his head, frowning at him.

“Well, not completely, at least,” Courfeyrac says. “It’s not some new emotion, different from other emotions, and that you’ve never felt before. It’s more like- more like this mixture? A collection of sharp sensations, tangled up with one another into one gigantic ball of feelings that continuously pound your chest, demanding to be felt all at once as common sense scrambles to create a semblance of order and fails miserably.”

“What are you talking about?” Enjolras asks, miserably. “I think you’ve been spending too much time with Jehan.”

“Love is _so_ complicated, Enj, and for you, it’s just a little bit more so.”

Enjolras resists rolling his eyes at his best friend.

“Look, what I’m trying to say is, you’re never going to figure out exactly how all the ends meet,” Courfeyrac says, “but they will. I’ve always said that Ferre loves you, and I stand by it.

“Love is happiness and confusion, it’s sadness and anger, it’s beauty and pain, it’s all of this and _so much more_. It’s things that don’t even have names, because they’re so complicated that it would be impossible to name them.” Courfeyrac sighs. “I need you to trust me on this, Enj. I have fallen in love in so many ways, with so many different people. You just have to trust me. Everything is going to be okay.”

“But it _hurts_ ,” Enjolras whines, and he knows that he sounds like a child. Courfeyrac has the good grace not to laugh at him.

“I know, Enj, but you’ve got to put on a brave face and try to be happy for them. And then, if all else fails and you really can’t stand not being with them, we’ll get you some skinny jeans.”

Enjolras shoves Courfeyrac, but a laugh bubbles to the surface anyway.

“Be happy for them,” he mutters. “I can do that. Combeferre is my best friend and I will be happy for him. Even if I want to throw myself out of a window every time he and Grantaire touch.”

“You are _such_ a drama queen,” Courfeyrac sighs, getting to his feet and holding out his hand to help Enjolras up too.

Enjolras mocks Jehan’s poetry. Not the poems themselves, he doesn’t have half the talent that that man has, but the ideas behind them. The perfect love: the falling head-over-heels for someone and them returning the sentiment. He’s had a thousand discussions with the man about how he can’t believe in such an unreliable emotion. Secretly though, he’d give anything on Earth to be able to see love the way the little poet sees it: infallible, and always beautiful.

When he and Courfeyrac get back into the living room, he automatically looks for Combeferre and Grantaire. When he sees them out on the balcony, he freezes. They seem to be laughing, and Combeferre pulls Grantaire into a kiss.

While Courfeyrac goes over to the window, Enjolras quickly sits down at lets Evette jump onto his knee. He smiles, feeling uncomfortable about what he just saw, though they are kind of showing off, and he focuses on plaiting Evette’s hair – at her insistence.

Over by the window, he hears Courfeyrac say, “We get the idea. You’re into exhibitionism. Please stop.”

He forces himself not to look as Combeferre and Grantaire make their way inside. When they sit down on the sofa – either side of him, is this a new kind of torture? – they keep their hands linked, stretching their arms around the back of the sofa. Enjolras tenses with their arms not that far from resting around his shoulders. 

Evette turns around to clamber up Enjolras and sit closer to her papa. Grantaire leans in a little and Enjolras tries to make himself relax. “Are you having a nice night, ma puce?” Grantaire asks her.

The little girl smiles up at him, snuggling into Enjolras a little. “Yes, Papa,” she tells him.

Courfeyrac stands up. “Combeferre, can I speak to you for a moment?”

Enjolras panics instantly, saying “Courf, I-” quickly, before he’s interrupted by Courfeyrac telling him that it’s nothing to do with “what we just discussed.” He finishes the reassurance with an over-exaggerated wink, and Enjolras sinks back into the sofa, not at all comforted by that. If Courfeyrac tells Combeferre, it’s over. 

When Combeferre gets to his feet, he’s forced to drop Grantaire’s hand, but Enjolras feels their fingers trailing across the back of his neck as they both pull their hands back to themselves. He shivers, despite himself. It was obviously accidental but it still affects Enjolras more than he’d like to admit.

Grantaire curls up in his seat, letting his knees rest slightly on Enjolras’ thigh. “What are we watching?” he asks the group, looking at the TV, clearly utterly oblivious to how his closeness is affecting Enjolras.

“Whatever’s going on on that sofa,” Cosette answers, looking across at them and Enjolras’ eyes widen.

Bahorel and Joly answer, “ _Project Runway_ ,” saving the moment from awkwardness.

He quite likes this show at times, and he tries to focus on it, instead of the weight of Grantaire’s legs resting on his own.

Barely moments later, Evette sticks her head right in the way of Enjolras’ view, frowning at him. “Why are you so…? Papa, what’s the word?” she asks, turning to Grantaire with a frown.

“Tense?” Grantaire offers and Evette nods. Enjolras wants to leave; if Grantaire can tell that he’s tense, he’s clearly not hiding his feelings all that well.

“Yes,” she says. “Why are you so tense, Enjolras?”

Enjolras smiles at her, her concern endearing, and he tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. “It’s nothing, ma petite,” he tells her, trying to maintain the smile.

She continues to frown at him, seeing right through his act clearly. It seems that six years olds are remarkably perceptive. “But you seem sad.”

“Don’t you worry about it,” he says. “Come on; let’s watch the show, Ettie.”

She pats him on the cheek and wriggles round so that he can wrap his arms around her as she sits in his lap. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to the small girl’s hair. It’s remarkable how much the little girl means to him. She’s somehow worked her way into his heart without him noticing.

Combeferre doesn’t come back for a long while and neither does Courfeyrac.

Enjolras makes himself keep his eyes on the screen, even when Grantaire’s head sinks onto his shoulder.

When Combeferre gets back, Grantaire lifts his head up to smile over at him. Enjolras both misses the weight of him leaning on him and feels guilty for craving the physical contact of his best friend’s boyfriend.

Combeferre stops short in the doorway, a soft smile crossing his features as he looks their way.

“You okay?” Grantaire asks softly.

Combeferre doesn’t reply, instead, as he comes round the back of the sofa to take his place, he stops to plant a kiss on the top of Grantaire’s head.

It doesn’t take long for Grantaire to let his head fall back onto Enjolras’ shoulder, and Enjolras smiles, faintly.

-

“No, no-” Grantaire laughs, pulling on Combeferre’s arm as the man drags him across the room. Combeferre’s laughing too, and they barely manage to stay on their feet. “No, don’t!” Grantaire squeaks.

“Come on, R, we’ve been dating for _three weeks_ , I want to see your art!” Combeferre protests, swinging Grantaire round on the end of his arm so that Grantaire stumbles.

They’re in the _Corinthe_ at present, halfway between where they had been sitting and the door. Grantaire had mentioned his art in passing, and Combeferre at first had been horrified to realise he hadn’t asked Grantaire what he did for a living yet, and then he’d been _dying_ to see Grantaire’s work.

“It’s _horrible,_ ” Grantaire protests weakly, though he knows it’s not, and besides, he’s still laughing way too hard for him to be taken seriously.

Combeferre pulls him closer and says, “Then as a devoted boyfriend I will pretend that it’s wonderful.”

Grantaire smiles up at him ruefully. “Fine, let’s go,” Grantaire agrees, grabbing Combeferre’s hand and pulling him out onto the street and–

-

Hurrying down the street, Enjolras keeps his head turned down to avoid the worst of the wind.

He’s in a rush because he’s got an interview with the local university for a temporary position and he wants to get coffee first. The _Corinthe_ is the closest coffee shop that he trusts and he’s almost made it to the door when two people that he knows all too well come stumbling out of it, giggling and clinging to each other.

They all crash into each other, but Combeferre and Grantaire hardly stop laughing. “Enjolras, hi,” Grantaire says weakly, clinging onto Combeferre. “How are you?”

Enjolras looks between the two of them and feels his heart sink. “I’m fine,” he replies blandly. “I’m just in a bit of a rush, so-”

Trying to squeeze past them to get inside the café, he keeps his head down.

Combeferre grabs his arm as he tries to push past them, pulling him to a stop. Enjolras looks at him in surprise, and the feeling is echoed on Combeferre’s face. He recovers quickly saying, “R was just about to show me what he does for a living. He’s an artist. Did you know he has an exhibition? You want to come too?”

Enjolras had known, in fact, though he’d never seen any of Grantaire’s work. On one hand, Enjolras would love to see Grantaire’s work, and he’d love to talk with Grantaire about his art – even though he knows nothing about art – but on the other hand, he really can’t miss this interview and, honestly, he doesn’t want to spend much time with both Combeferre and Grantaire when they’re acting like this. Their hands are still intertwined, and Enjolras can barely stand to be around them. Enjolras bites his lip. “Maybe some other time?” he says, directed at Grantaire. He then glances between the two of them, nervously, as though they might react badly to his suggestion. 

Grantaire nods, giving him a quick smile, and Enjolras melts a little inside. “Sure, come round to mine any time,” Grantaire tells him, and that makes Enjolras heart rate pick up.

Enjolras again glances between Combeferre and Grantaire, trying to stay calm. He smiles, and it feels forced even to him, and nods. “Well, I’ll see you around. Have a- Have a nice day.”

He then pushes past them, heading straight into the _Corinthe_.

The interview goes well, and he leaves feeling pretty sure that he’s got the position. It is only a temporary job, but it’s a chance to prove that he can do it and who knows where it will take him. When he was younger, he thought that he’d become a politician, but now he’s decided that teaching people is what he’s best at. Teaching gives him the chance to show young people – albeit not that much younger than him – how the world can be.

Also he’s very good at speeches, so the lecture form of university suits him well.

He can’t wait to tell Combeferre, and when he bursts through the door, he finds Combeferre laid out on the sofa, watching some show that Grantaire got him into.

“You seem happy,” Combeferre comments, smiling up at him from his seat. 

Enjolras goes to flop down on the sofa with him, telling him proudly, “I just had an interview with the university. It went really well.”

Combeferre’s surprise and delight shows on his face. “Enj, that’s great!”

Enjolras grins back at him and lets himself get tugged into a hug, burying his face into Combeferre’s neck and hugging him back tightly. Combeferre gives good hugs.

He pulls back as soon as he starts thinking about how many of these hugs Grantaire probably gets, feeling irritated at himself for being resentful of something so trivial and also for ruining a good moment. Combeferre must see something in his face because he frowns, looking more than a little sad.

“What’s going on, Enj?” Combeferre asks.

Enjolras forces a smile back onto his face. “Nothing, why?”

“You’ve been pretty distant,” Combeferre says, with a shrug, “and, uh, you don’t seem all that keen on Grantaire and me.”

Enjolras knows that his smile drops a little, but he hopes that Combeferre doesn’t notice.

“I’ve been busy,” Enjolras says. “Anyway, that’s absurd. I’m very happy for you and Grantaire.”

Even he thinks it doesn’t sound right, and he can’t imagine how forced it must sound to Combeferre.

Combeferre chews at his lip, looking concerned. “Are you sure?”

Enjolras nods. “Positive.”

_Not at all._

_Not one single bit._

-

When Grantaire wakes up, his daughter is lying on top of him, their noses pressed together while she stares down at him. The second his eyes blink open, her own widen. “Can we go to the zoo?” she asks, instantly.

“Why?” he responds, still half-asleep. “We went last month.”

“I really like the zoo,” she tells him, something he already knows.

He likes the zoo also, however, so he smiles up at her before rolling onto his side so she falls onto the soft mattress. “Alright,” he says, “but we’re inviting Combeferre.”

She nods ecstatically, beaming broadly. “Can we invite Enjolras, too?”

Grantaire’s not sure how much Enjolras will like that, but he can’t bring himself to say no to his little girl, so he says, “I’ll ask him.”

Besides, it does technically help with the scheme that Combeferre and he are failing to pull together.

-

When he gets a call from Grantaire the next day, Enjolras scrambles to answer it, all the while knowing just how pathetic he is.

“Grantaire, hi,” he says into the phone.

Grantaire’s laugh greets him, but he’s not sure why Grantaire’s laughing. “Hello, Enjolras. This might sound odd – Evette get _off_ – but Eve and I were wondering if you’d like to come to the zoo with us and Combeferre.”

“Oh,” Enjolras says, surprised.

He hears Evette saying, “Papa, give me the phone,” urgently, while Grantaire continues to laugh, most likely holding it out of reach of his girl. “So?” Grantaire asks. “You coming, or what?”

“I-” Enjolras starts, but that’s as far as he gets before he hears a little commotion on the other end, and suddenly Evette’s voice is chattering into his ear.

“Enjolras, you have to come because you need to see the penguins,” she tells him earnestly. “It’s gonna be so much better than your boring day will be.”

Enjolras laughs. “Alright, Ettie, I’ll come.”

She lets out an excited cry and clearly throws the phone back to her papa, because a second later, Grantaire is saying, “I guess you’re coming?”

“I guess I am. I’ll have to meet you guys there, though, but I’ll send Combeferre over to yours if you want.”

“Oh,” Grantaire says, “sure that sounds great. We’ll probably be there around eleven, does that sound alright?”

“Perfect. I’ll see you later, Grantaire,” he says, and when Grantaire echoes the statement he hangs up, dropping the phone immediately and trying to stop his hands from shaking. He’s not entirely sure why he agreed to go; now he has to spend the day with both Combeferre and Grantaire, no doubt being very couple-y. On the upside, they are his friends, and maybe spending time with them will help him get used to them being a _them_.

When he leaves for the zoo, he walks slowly, meandering along the streets in the direction of the Ménagerie du Jardin des plantes and popping into the _Corinthe_ to buy a coffee. He’s done with it by the time he arrives and he tosses the cup into the nearest bin as he leans up against a wall to wait for the others.

Maybe he’s a little nervous, and maybe he’d spent a little extra time making sure he didn’t look God-awful, but he doesn’t think his nerves show.

Evette comes running up to him as he watches the people go by, and he crouches down to her level to give her a big hug before pulling back and saying, “Hey there, Ettie.”

She beams at him, and as he stands up she grabs his hand. Combeferre and Grantaire walk up behind her, a little slower, and Enjolras eyes dart to their joined hands for a moment. He can do this. He can. He gives them both a grin. “Hi, guys,” he says.

“Hey, Enjolras,” Combeferre replies.

Evette starts tugging on his hand, and Enjolras looks down at her expectantly. “Come _on_ ,” she whines, attempting to drag him towards the entrance.

He laughs and glances up at Combeferre and Grantaire as he lets himself be pulled along.

Combeferre and Grantaire follow them around the zoo, at a slightly slower pace, while Enjolras and Evette move from animal to animal at a much faster rate. Enjolras is a little disappointed that he barely talks to Combeferre and Grantaire, but he’s also very glad that Evette is keeping him busy.

Combeferre brought his camera with him, and he takes a lot of photos of Grantaire, but also regularly takes photos of Enjolras and Evette. When Enjolras picks Evette up to help her see into an enclose, Combeferre turns the camera on them. He snaps the photo just as Evette says something that makes Enjolras laugh, and his wide smile with his head thrown back is captured. Evette’s grinning up at him.

At one point, he passes the camera to Enjolras and makes him take a photo of him, Grantaire, and Evette. Grantaire holds Evette in his arms and Combeferre wraps his arm around Grantaire’s waist as they smile at the camera.

Enjolras snaps the picture, and then holds it out for them to see. “Aww,” Grantaire says, looking down at it, “aren’t we cute?”

Combeferre laughs. “We’re so cute,” he agrees.

The worst thing is, Enjolras can’t disagree. They’re so cute.

He ends up in a competition of sorts with Combeferre on animal trivia. Combeferre knows more, obviously, but Enjolras grew up as his best friend so knows quite a bit too. Grantaire looks impressed about their inane knowledge, and declares, “If I ever take part in a pub quiz, you guys are being on my team.”

Combeferre and Enjolras act very serious about this appointment, nodding at him.

“We won’t let you down,” Enjolras promises.

Grantaire laughs, but then Evette yanks hard on Enjolras’ arm and he gets dragged away to see a duck. He hears both Grantaire and Combeferre laugh behind him; he probably looks a right scene with his too-long limbs and his floppy hair as he gets dragged along behind the short six-year-old.

Finishing the circuit of the zoo, Enjolras has Evette on his back, and he spins round, making the little girl squeal in delight. She lets go of his shoulders for a second, and he panics and clutches her legs tighter. She peers down at him. “I’m not going to fall.”

He laughs. “You just had me worried there, that’s all, Ettie.”

He crouches down and lets her hop off. Combeferre and Grantaire catch up to them, and Combeferre smiles. “We were thinking of going out to get coffee, would you like to join us?”

He looks at his watch and fidgets a little, thinking that today has been brilliant, but a closed space with the two of them might be pushing it a little. “Uh, no,” he says at last. “I should probably get back; I have a lot of work to do.”

“You sure?” Grantaire asks, sounding, for some reason, a little disappointed.

Enjolras nods. If he has to sit across from them in a café, he might lose it. “Absolutely, I’m sorry. You guys have fun, though.” Evette tugs on his hand and he looks down at her, saying, “I’ll see you around, Ettie. Make sure your papa brings you to the _Musain_ next time we’re all there, yeah?”

She nods and says, “Okay, Enjolras,” cheerfully, her young mind not seeing anything wrong. He smiles, a little weakly, and then says goodbye to them all. He tries to walk normally away from them, fighting the urge to run. 

-

Combeferre and Grantaire exchange a defeated look. But, as Combeferre says optimistically, at least he came.

-

Heading straight for Courfeyrac’s, Enjolras keeps his head down and desperately tries not to think – not an easy task.

“There is nothing worse than this,” is his opening line, before he realises that Jehan and Marius are both sitting on the sofa in the background.

Courfeyrac nods, sympathetically, and invites him in.

“What’s so bad?” Jehan asks when he sits down.

Enjolras grimaces and quickly weighs up the pros and cons of other people knowing. In the end, he decides that he simply doesn’t care anymore. “Being in love with my best friend and his boyfriend.”

Marius chokes and goes bright red. Courfeyrac whacks him on the back, which only serves to make things worse.

Jehan, however, remains calm. “Yes, that doesn’t sound good.”

Enjolras shakes his head, sullenly. “It’s not.”

-

“We’re going to the _Musain_ ,” Combeferre tells him, switching the TV off, mid-episode.

Enjolras doesn’t protest; he just quietly follows Combeferre to the car, staring out the window for the duration of the journey.

When they get there, he quickly throws himself into a conversation with Feuilly.

Of course, he notices when Grantaire arrives, but he pretends he doesn’t and when Evette runs straight over to him, jumping onto his lap, he gives her a short hug as he continues his conversation with Feuilly.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Combeferre leans over to give Grantaire a kiss, whispering a quiet hello with a pleased smile.

Grantaire wanders away down to the other end of the table, and Enjolras desperately tries to continue his conversation as Evette stands on his knee to attempt to tie his hair up. She tugs and pulls a fair amount, but she seems happy so he keeps his winces to a minimum.

Evette gives up fairly soon and she hops off Enjolras’ knee and moves to sit on Combeferre’s. The man looks surprised but pleased and he laughs as she makes a grab for his glasses, putting them on and peering at him owlishly through them. Enjolras watches and stifles a laugh as Combeferre pulls faces at the little girl, who can probably barely see him through the prescription glasses. Combeferre takes them back, saying, “You’ll give yourself a headache, chérie.”

Feuilly elbows him, since the conversation has tailed off. Enjolras looks back at him abruptly and flushes, mumbling an apology.

-

Grantaire giggles, watching Combeferre and Evette, and when he glances back at Joly and Bossuet, they’re watching him with grins on their faces.

“You really like him, huh?” Joly says.

Grantaire lets out a pleased sigh. “More than you could know.”

-

Later, Feuilly sends Enjolras across to buy them drinks, pressing some money into his hand. Enjolras doesn’t realise his real reasoning until he’s standing side-by-side at the bar with Grantaire.

“Having a good night?” Grantaire asks him, smiling.

Enjolras looks up at him in surprise and for a second a soft smile crosses his features. “Well enough,” is his answer, and for a moment he looks back at Combeferre, his heart pounding.

Grantaire frowns. “Something the matter?” he asks, and Enjolras wants to scream. 

He doesn’t, of course, and instead he stares back at him for a long moment before he says, “No, everything’s great.” Enjolras coughs and looks over at the bartender who is still too busy to take their order, and eventually Enjolras tensely says, “You and Combeferre seem to be doing well.”

He doesn’t want to talk about it at all, but if he’s trying to get over them, then maybe it’s the way. People say that talking about things that make you sad can help you get past it.

Grantaire says, “We don’t have to talk about that,” and Enjolras is getting more concerned about the fact that Grantaire might know. “I know you’re his best friend,” Grantaire then adds, “it must be a little odd.”

Enjolras smiles, mostly out of relief, and he says, “Shouldn’t my being one of his best friends mean that I should interrogate the boyfriend?”

Grantaire laughs at that and it makes Enjolras feel warm and bubbly. He loves making Grantaire laugh. “I guess so,” Grantaire says, “but there’s not really much to tell. He’s great with the kid and he’s nice and funny and-” he leans in closer conspiratorially and Enjolras wants to lean in too “-he’s a really great kisser.” He gives Enjolras a wink at that before turning to order a glass of water from the bartender who is finally free, while Enjolras flounders. He didn’t want to hear that. Not at all. But now he has, and he knows he’s not going to be able to get the thought out of his mind. “You want anything?” Grantaire asks, and Enjolras has to force his stunned expression into a neutral one very quickly.

He orders the strongest drink he can name and as soon as it gets passed to him, he lifts it to his mouth and takes a large gulp.

“Easy there,” Grantaire laughs, giving him a somewhat concerned look. “We don’t want you dancing on the tables by the end of the night.” Enjolras gives him an indignant look, and Grantaire then smirks. “On second thought…” he adds.

Enjolras tries not to smile at that, but he can’t resist, and he finds himself using the bar to prop him up.

“Hey, I wanted to say thanks,” Grantaire suddenly says to Enjolras as they stand there. Enjolras raises his eyebrows questioningly, and Grantaire clarifies, “For being so sweet to Evette.”

It seems such an odd thing for him to be thanking Enjolras for, and Enjolras’ face breaks into a smile. “Oh, she’s a lovely girl, I don’t mind at all.” He’s being completely truthful. Evette is fun to be around, and he doesn’t mind indulging her childish whims.

“Well, she certainly likes you,” Grantaire laughs. “Combeferre and I have a theory that she fancies you.”

A hot flush works its way onto Enjolras face, and he protests, “She’s six!”

That only makes Grantaire laugh more, and Enjolras’ heart can’t take much more of this. “But she has _eyes,_ ” Grantaire jokes, making Enjolras blush more.“She’s six and already knows what a hot piece of ass you are,” he adds, winking at Enjolras. Enjolras thinks his legs might give out beneath him if Grantaire keeps this up. Thankfully, the man changes track just then. “Still,” Grantaire says, “you put up with a fair amount from her. You do know you can say no, right?”

“I know,” Enjolras tells him with a grin. “I’ve never wanted to say no, though.”

Grantaire gives him a disbelieving look. “Not even that time she put Musichetta’s makeup on you?”

Enjolras laughs loudly, remembering the moment. “Oh, God, I’d blocked that from my memory. Why did no one think to point out the fact that Chetta’s skin is a lot darker than mine, therefore her foundation would be too?”

Grantaire grins. “We knew, we just thought it’d be funnier to let it happen.”

“You bastard,” Enjolras chokes out, laughing in surprise. He should have known.

“The mascara and lipstick looked good though,” Grantaire points out, and Enjolras wants to bury his face in his hands.

“I did quite like the lipstick,” he admits, and Grantaire’s face lights up in a smile.

“Maybe you should get some of your own,” Grantaire suggests, and Enjolras thinks about it for a moment. 

He’s just about to say that he just might do that when Combeferre interrupts their conversation, appearing at Grantaire’s side and wrapping an arm around him. Enjolras freezes, feeling terrified that Combeferre will realise that he was flirting with his boyfriend. However, the man simply says, “I’m going to head home; I’ve got an early shift at the hospital tomorrow,” with a smile directed at Grantaire. 

Grantaire smiles up at him. “Alright, make sure you get plenty of sleep.”

Combeferre hums and bends down to give him a quick kiss. Seeing them kiss always brings about a plethora of emotions for Enjolras. On one hand, it makes him feel unbelievably jealous that they can just do that whenever they want, and Enjolras would give anything to be able to kiss them too. On the other hand, seeing them together makes him ridiculously happy. He thinks back to the night that they got together, remembers seeing them curled up on the sofa and how seeing them like that had stirred some kind of happiness in him.

Combeferre looks at Enjolras and gives him a quick goodbye, saying that he’ll see him soon. After that he leaves, waving a goodbye to their friends at the table.

Enjolras suddenly doesn’t feel like he can keep up the bubbly personality and he quickly makes an excuse to head back to the table, grabbing his drink off the side and taking a large drink of it as he goes. Grantaire smiles at him as he leaves, and that only makes it so much worse for Enjolras. He goes straight for Courfeyrac, sitting down heavily next to his best friend and breathing out. Courfeyrac squeezes his knee under the table and quietly asks, “Are you alright?”

“I’m grand, Courf,” Enjolras says, and then takes another large gulp of the drink.

Feuilly hits him lightly on the head. “You didn’t get me my drink!”

Enjolras feels a twinge of guilt. “Sorry, I got a little distracted.”

That only makes Courfeyrac and Feuilly giggle, and Feuilly says, “Yes, we saw.” So, apparently Feuilly knows about his other crush, too.

He spends the rest of the evening distracting himself in a debate with Feuilly and Courfeyrac, but when he sees Grantaire getting ready to leave, a sleepy Evette clinging to his neck, he jumps to his feet and hurries after them. “Is there any chance I could get a lift back to mine?” he asks, knowing that he’s not too out of the way for them, like he is for most everyone else – not that anyone would begrudge him a lift.

Evette reaches out for Enjolras with grabby hands, and Grantaire passes her across, saying that of course he could give him a lift. Enjolras shifts Evette round so that she balances on his hip as he carries her to the car.

Evette sits in the car seat in the back of the car, and Enjolras spends most of the journey half-turned around in his passenger seat to listen to her tired rambling.

Every now and then he sneaks glances at Grantaire, who seems to be smiling at nothing, and though it’s most likely his daughter’s nonsensical talk that’s making him amused, Enjolras allows himself the pretence that it’s his presence.

-

“Do you ever think we went too fast?” Combeferre asks one day, four weeks into their relationship, as they lie together, tangled up in his bed.

Grantaire shakes his head, both disagreeing and nuzzling further into his neck. “No, I think we’re doing it just right.” He hears Combeferre breathe out through his nose as he smiles and Grantaire peeks up at him. “I’ve never been in love before, but I can’t imagine that many people take it much slower. Why wait?”

Combeferre looks down at him, a look of amazement in his eyes. “You’re in love with me?”

Grantaire nods, smiling, not in the slightest wanting to take back what he’d said. “I am.”

Combeferre pulls him up for a kiss. “I love you, too.”

-

Grantaire ducks as Bahorel swings at his head, narrowly avoiding the hit. He curses as he springs back, swinging out at Bahorel’s side.

Evette’s engrossed in her book, not even slightly paying attention to the beating her papa’s taking.

Sweat drips down Grantaire’s neck from the exertion. Bahorel’s also coated in a fine layer of sweat, his skin glistening a little as he jabs at Grantaire, aiming for his ribs.

Grantaire calls time-out not long later, breathing heavily and hunching over immediately. 

Bahorel claps him on the back, panting, and the two of them head for their bags for towels and water. Evette pulls a face at them, not-so-politely informing them that they stink.

Later on as they leave the gym together, Grantaire asks Bahorel if he can look after Evette for the rest of the day. “Combeferre invited me over,” he explains. “Enjolras is out,” he adds with a wink.

Bahorel laughs. “Yeah, why not, I’ll look after her; you go and have crazy sex with your doctor boyfriend.”

Grantaire makes an indignant sound and puts his hands over Evette’s ears as they walk. She bats at his hands while he says, “No crude language around my daughter.”

When he removes his hands she looks up and him. “Are you and Combeferre having sex?” she asks.

Grantaire chokes, while Bahorel bursts into laughter.

“You’re _six_!” Grantaire exclaims. “You shouldn’t know what that is till you’re nine at _least_.”

She just shrugs.

Bahorel gives her a piggyback the rest of the way to the bus stop and when they get there, they go their separate ways, Evette to Bahorel’s and Grantaire to Combeferre’s.

-

Grantaire runs his hands down the smooth skin on Combeferre’s back, fingernails scratching a little, moaning as Combeferre bites down on his neck. “Ah- Ah fuck,” Grantaire breathes when Combeferre sucks down on his skin.

One of Grantaire’s legs is wrapped around Combeferre’s waist as they lie on Combeferre’s sofa, and he brings their hips together, grinding up. Both their shirts lie on the floor, shoes kicked off too, though their trousers remain on.

Combeferre groans and moves to capture Grantaire’s lips instead.

Pressing against each other, hands everywhere, they kiss intensely, desperately yearning for _more_.

“Oh, God, you’re gorgeous,” Combeferre moans against Grantaire’s lips as he presses down into him. When he pulls back, Grantaire looks up at him with hooded eyelids and a pleased smirk on his face.

Combeferre looks glorious above him, a laugh in his eyes and a thrilled grin on his lips. Combeferre dips down for another kiss and Grantaire pushes up into him, his breath stuttering. When Combeferre slowly starts to work his way down Grantaire’s body, planting a trail of kisses, sucking at his nipple, Grantaire all but loses the ability to breathe.

Combeferre pins Grantaire’s arms above his head as he sucks hard at Grantaire’s collarbone, and Grantaire moans, his eyes fluttering shut.

Later, they lie curled up together on the sofa, facing each other, trading kisses lazily. “I’ve been thinking,” Combeferre starts, following up his words with another kiss. Grantaire makes a humming sound in question as he carefully kisses Combeferre’s jawline. “I’ve been thinking that maybe we should just tell Enjolras.” 

Grantaire hums again. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. It’s been, what, five weeks now?

“Yeah,” Combeferre says, kissing Grantaire again. “I don’t think he’ll ever speak up. He’ll think he’s being selfish, or something.”

Grantaire chuckles. “What are we going to say, though? I mean, ‘hey we’re both in love with you but didn’t tell you’ sounds kind of asshole-ish.”

Combeferre laughs, tilting his head back a little to allow Grantaire better access to his neck. Grantaire willingly sets to work on giving Combeferre an impressive hickey. “You’re right. Well, we’ll tell him next week, which gives us plenty of time to work something out.” He stifles a moan as Grantaire sucks harder on his neck. “Ah- And if we don’t have anything planned by, say, Wednesday of next week, we’ll just wing it.”

Grantaire carefully shifts them so that he’s lying on top of Combeferre, and he pulls away from his neck, propping himself up on his elbows either side of Combeferre. He looks down at Combeferre with a smile. “That sounds like a plan.”

Combeferre beams up at him and brushes a strand of his hair back behind his ear. “I love you,” Combeferre says, and Grantaire’s entire body courses with happiness at the words.

“You too,” he replies, dipping down and planting a firm kiss on his lips. Combeferre responds by immediately thrusting upwards, and Grantaire stifles a needy sound. “What if- What if Enjolras gets back?” he pants as Combeferre rubs himself up against him.

“So what if he does?” Combeferre murmurs, his voice deeper as he looks up at Grantaire, hands edging down.

“No- No, you are not going to get me off by dirty talking about Enjolras,” Grantaire protests, though really he thinks nothing would be better.

“Oh, really?” Combeferre asks, raising an eyebrow, seeing the challenge.

Grantaire can only whimper in response, and Combeferre flips them over, hovering over Grantaire and leaning close to whisper in his ear. “What if I fucked you here on the couch?” Combeferre purrs. “What if Enjolras walked in on us fucking like this? Do you think he’d like seeing you- seeing _us_ like that?”

Grantaire lets out a whine and begs, “Oh, God, fuck me, Ferre, please, God, fuck me.”

Combeferre pulls back a little to grin at him and give him a bruising kiss.

In the end, Combeferre does manage to get Grantaire off dirty talking about Enjolras. Unsurprisingly, it’s very easy to do so.

-

It’s very confusing, Enjolras thinks, being in love with two people. There’s always that feeling of guilt, whenever he thinks about one of them for too long, as though he’s betraying the other. It’s ridiculous, because he’s not dating either of them, nor will he by the looks of things between Combeferre and Grantaire. It’s confusing.

In his dreams he vies for their attention, or he finds himself with one while the other screams angrily, or, the worst, he watches as Combeferre and Grantaire fall in love and leave him behind.

In his waking hours, he spends most of his time trying to focus on his work and only being able to think about them. It’s ridiculous; Combeferre has never been this much of a distraction. He’s been in love with Combeferre for years and it was only a problem when they got a little too close, or Combeferre looked at him just so.

Now, however, he finds it difficult to think of anything but his current… situation.

He tries to rationalise it, telling himself that it’s not going to last forever, and that he’ll get over it. Feelings are powerful, according to Jehan, and Enjolras can testify to that, but that’s all it is. Feelings. He can get past it.

But then Grantaire will grin at him with that crooked smile of his, or Combeferre will do something really nice for him like that dinner he cooked when Enjolras was late back from the library one night.

He laughs at Grantaire’s jokes a little too much sometimes, and he stares at Combeferre one time too many, and he’s starting to think he’s being too obvious.

Being in love with Combeferre had never been a distraction. The only new variable is that Combeferre is dating Grantaire.

Enjolras is jealous. He has to admit it to himself, because it’s the truth. Every time Grantaire takes Combeferre’s hand, Enjolras wishes it was him that Grantaire was reaching out for. Every time Combeferre spends the day with Grantaire, coming home with laughter and stories to tell, Enjolras wishes that he’d been with them in the stories and experienced them first hand, the two men laughing along next to him. Every time Grantaire waltzes into their flat and greets Combeferre with a kiss, Enjolras wishes that he could do that.

It’s a never-ending torture but still he lives for the moments in which Grantaire or Combeferre spare a smile for him, or brush against him, or-

He’s so pathetic.

It’s getting harder to pretend, harder to be around them, and at times he thinks he’s about to burst. The words that he just can’t say to them weigh heavily on his tongue, ready to fall out of his mouth at any second.

He wants to scream ‘I love you’ from the top of his lungs.

He can’t and he doesn’t. He can’t ruin this for his friends. They make each other so happy, and it’s plain to see.

The problem comes when Enjolras gets home from the library early to find Combeferre sprawled out on the sofa, wearing nothing but his underwear, a layer of sweat coating his muscles and a blissed out expression across his face. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out, and the sound of the shower running in the bathroom really gives it away.

“What the _fuck_?” Enjolras growls, and Combeferre darts upright, looking nothing short of horrified.

“Enjolras,” he squeaks, “you’re not supposed to be back yet.”

Enjolras glares at him, and Combeferre looks equal parts embarrassed and sorry. “Well I am. Sorry I didn’t give you time to clean up. Sounds like Grantaire made it though.” He’s shaking as he stares at Combeferre, feeling like he’s standing at a fifty foot drop, about to jump right off it. “What were you thinking?” he asks, his voice coming out louder than he meant it to.

He picks up Combeferre’s trousers off the floor and throws them at him. “Get dressed,” he snaps.

Combeferre does as he’s told, quickly pulling on his pants and looking horribly ashamed.

“Do you _have_ to fuck him on _our_ sofa?” Enjolras demands, feeling like he’s going to collapse any second and finding strength in his anger. Combeferre and he sit on that sofa; they watch TV together there; Enjolras slept with Combeferre’s arms wrapped around him on that sofa.

His eyes flick over to the door, and he sees Grantaire standing there. He flinches away, as the image of Grantaire and Combeferre pressed against each other fills his mind unbearably. He can’t be here anymore.

“You know what?” Enjolras then says, slowly. “Do whatever the fuck you want. I don’t care anymore.”

He heads for his bedroom before he does something foolish, shoving past Grantaire on the way and desperately trying to ignore the hurt look on the man’s face.

He’s barely made it to his room before the tears start. His whole body shakes as he leans against his door and sinks to the floor. Combeferre’s almost-naked body. Grantaire’s damp hair. Their clothes littering the floor of the living room. The images fill his mind, and it’s all too real. A sob wrenches from his throat.

It hurts, so much he thinks he might never be able to get up again.

He sniffs, and a second later there’s a knock on his door.

“Enjolras?” Grantaire’s voice calls to him from the other side of the door. “It’s me. Grantaire.”

Enjolras doesn’t reply, trying to find a way to control his breathing and to stop crying.

-

Grantaire stands outside the door for a moment, listening, and he hears a loud sniff. Grantaire leans his forehead against the door. “Enjolras?” he calls, not wanting to eavesdrop. “It’s me. Grantaire.”

Enjolras doesn’t reply, so he carries on. “I’m really sorry about what happened. We just- We didn’t mean for it to happen.” He thinks about Combeferre fucking him into the cushions, Enjolras’ name on his lips, and how it was the direct opposite of unintentional.

“Go away, Grantaire,” Enjolras finally calls back, his voice slightly too thick for him to be fine.

Grantaire slides to the floor, leaning his back against the door. “Please, forgive us.”

“Is Combeferre there?” Enjolras asks, a moment later.

“No, it’s just me.”

He hears Enjolras breathe out heavily. “Just don’t do that on the sofa anymore, okay? I don’t want to see or know anything about that.”

Grantaire nods before he remembers that Enjolras can’t see him. He coughs slightly. “Okay,” he says. “We’re really sorry.”

“Me too,” Enjolras replies, but when Grantaire asks what for, he doesn’t give an answer.

Grantaire leaves their flat not long after that, needing to go pick Evette up from Bahorel’s. He gives Combeferre a kiss, quietly saying, “We really need to talk to him.”

“Wednesday,” Combeferre promises.

“Wednesday,” Grantaire agrees.

He leaves with a smile.

-

“We’re really sorry,” Grantaire says again, and he really does sound like he means it.

“Me too,” Enjolras replies, the rest he doesn’t say aloud, but it follows in his mind. _I’m sorry that I can’t stop being in love with you._

Grantaire asks, “What for?” and Enjolras doesn’t reply. Eventually Enjolras hears the sounds of Grantaire walking away down the corridor, and he breathes out heavily. 

He texts Courfeyrac, not at all wanting Combeferre or Grantaire to hear.

**You’ll never guess what just happened.**

Courfeyrac doesn’t take more than twelve seconds to reply: **TELL ME**

Enjolras can’t even smile as he texts back: **I just walked in on the aftermath of Ferre and R fucking on my sofa.**

He can almost hear the sympathy in Courfeyrac’s voice when he replies, and Enjolras asks if he can come over. **I can’t stay in this flat.** he tells Courfeyrac.

**ofc. marius is at cosettes we have the flat to ourselves let’s binge eat ice cream and watch rent**

Enjolras does smile at that; that sounds pretty good to him.

When he hears Grantaire leave, he gets to his feet and wipes at his face. Checking himself in the mirror, his eyes don’t look too red. Quickly packing a bag, he feels like he’s in a race against time. How long will it take for Combeferre to decide that they need to talk about this?

Combeferre’s nowhere to be seen when Enjolras leaves his room, and he takes that as a sign that the other man doesn’t want to talk about it just yet. He scrawls a note and leaves it on the table telling him where he’s gone.

By the time he gets to Courfeyrac’s, he’s downright miserable, and he falls willingly into his best friend’s arms.

As planned, they dig out a tub of ice cream and set it between them, eating it straight out of the tub, while _Rent_ plays. About halfway through, Enjolras mumbles, “This is _not_ a feel-good film.”

Courfeyrac laughs. “Yeah, I’d almost forgotten.”

Courfeyrac has many flaws, but his ability to cheer up his friends is not one of them, and Enjolras lets out a loud laugh before joining in singing _Take Me Or Leave Me_ at the tops of their voices.

Predictably, they both end up sobbing over Angel’s funeral and Courfeyrac starts stress-eating the ice cream as the others start to argue.

After the film, Courfeyrac and Enjolras fix up something for their dinner, singing, “We’ll open up a restaurant in Santa Fe,” loudly.

Finally, well fed and feeling comfortable, they curl up on the sofa. In the darkness of the room, with Courfeyrac snoring next to him, what happened earlier makes a reappearance at the forefront of Enjolras’ mind. He feels his stomach twist at the thought of the two men together.

The blue-purple bruise-like mark on Combeferre’s collarbone simply won’t leave his mind, and neither will the picture that his brain conjures up of Grantaire pressing down on Combeferre, mouth sucking, biting, at Combeferre’s skin with the intention of leaving such a mark.

It takes a long time for him to fall asleep, and when he does, all he knows is that he has to tell them. If only so that he can start to move on.

 -

Enjolras spends the day at Courfeyrac’s, even though he knows that Combeferre will be out till late at the hospital. Courfeyrac doesn’t question it, or even try to get him to talk to him about it.

Eventually, Enjolras starts the conversation. “I think I need to tell them,” he starts slowly.

Courfeyrac waits patiently for him to elaborate.

“Not to… ruin anything between them. I think they need to know. Or I need them to know. So that I can stop thinking about it so much.”

Courfeyrac hums thoughtfully.

“Keeping it a secret is just making me stressed and on edge,” Enjolras decides. “If I tell them, I can learn to relax around them, and I can get over them.”

Courfeyrac says, “At the end of the day, it’s your choice, Enjolras.”

“If you were them,” Enjolras says, “would you want to know?”

Courfeyrac doesn’t answer for a moment, pulling a face like he’s thinking really hard, and then, slowly, he says, “Yes. I think I would.”

Dropping his gaze to the floor, Enjolras thinks about it for a long moment. Finally, in a voice that’s almost timid, he asks, “You don’t think they’ll hate me, do you?”

Courfeyrac tousles his hair and gives him a warm smile. “I have absolutely no doubt in my mind when I say that they will not hate you.”

Still uncertain, Enjolras asks, “How can you know that?”

That’s when Courfeyrac pulls him into a hug, clutching him against his chest and saying, into his hair mostly, “I just do, Enj. Ferre’s your best friend, and R is so lovely. They won’t hate you. I know for a fact that hatred is not what they are going to feel for you.”

“I have to tell them,” Enjolras mutters. Courfeyrac responds by squeezing him tightly and letting go.

Courfeyrac and Jehan go out for dinner together that night, though not without checking, double-checking, and triple-checking with Enjolras that he’ll be okay without them. “We’ll probably go to Jehan’s after, okay? Marius will be in, though. If you decide to go back to yours just leave a note, or something.”

Enjolras nods along to Courfeyrac’s unnecessary ramblings, and allows Jehan’s multiple hugs. Finally, he hurries them out the door, rolling his eyes and saying, “My heart’s hurting, not my legs, I’ll be okay on my own.” (That might not have been the right thing to say, however, because Jehan and Courfeyrac both hug him, then, not seeming to want to let go for a good minute.)

He doesn’t see much of Marius – only once does the man leave his room, and that’s just to get some more herbal tea – so Enjolras pretty much feels like he’s home alone. He tries to watch TV, and then he tries to read (a poetry book he found on the floor, most likely Jehan’s), and after that he tries to sleep for a while. None of these things distract him, and he winds up thinking about how he’s going to explain himself to Grantaire and Combeferre. That only leads to him upsetting himself, getting stressed about how they’ll react.

In the end, he grabs his jacket and shoves on his shoes, scrawling a note to Marius and the others to say he’s gone home, and heads straight for Grantaire’s.

-

The next day, Grantaire doesn’t see either Combeferre or Enjolras. Everyone goes out for drinks at the _Musain_ , but Combeferre’s working and Enjolras declines the offer. Bahorel’s sister, Charlene, is once again blessedly looking after Evette, meaning that Grantaire doesn’t have to keep an eye on her all night.

That’s probably how he ends up mediating Joly and Bossuet’s drinking game. They ask if he wants to play, clearly not having noticed how he never drinks, but when he turns down the offer they insist he watches the game for cheating.

He’s not quite sure how their game works, nor how to tell who’s cheating, but if he had to guess, he’d assume that Musichetta was winning, despite not officially playing.

He guesses this because she’s drunk just as much, if not more, than them and is still the most sober. He thinks that might be the Columbian part of her. That or she can just really hold her liquor.

He gets home late, apologising over and over to Charlene and insisting on paying her extra, despite her insistence that Evette went to bed ages ago and all she’s done is steal his Wi-Fi.

Grantaire decides to do some painting, having neglected his work for a couple of days, and he settles in for a long night, putting both his headphones in and turning the music up.

He only notices someone’s calling him because he happens to see the light out of the corner of his eye. Caller I.D. tells him it’s Enjolras, and he picks up cautiously.

“Grantaire? I’m outside, can you let me in?” Enjolras asks, sounding shaken.

Grantaire immediately heads for the door. “I’ll be right there,” he promises, and then hangs up.

Yanking open the door as he puts his phone in his pocket, he finds Enjolras standing there, looking scared and pale.

Enjolras seems to be on the verge of tears, and Grantaire realises that he’s never seen Enjolras when he’s not fully in control before. “I know it’s late, but you once said that I could come round any time, and I know that was probably just a figure of speech or at least meant daylight hours, or something, but I really need to talk to you, Grantaire.”

-

“…I really need to talk to you, Grantaire.”

Grantaire stumbles back a step and holds the door open wide to let Enjolras in. “Come in, just, God, are you okay?” he asks, and when Enjolras shakes his head in response, for once not trusting his voice, Grantaire offers his arms, holding them open in a suggestion.

Enjolras falls right into them, clinging to him, shaking and trying to concentrate on the soft soothing noises that Grantaire’s making, while also deeply breathing in the smell of Grantaire – acrylic paint and strong coffee, primarily.

Grantaire’s the one to pull away, gently taking Enjolras hand and leading him through to the living room. Enjolras follows.

When Grantaire offers him coffee, Enjolras shakes his head. “No, I’d like you to sit down,” he says, trying not to feel so uncertain about everything. “I need to say something, and it’s an incredibly unfair something that you probably don’t want to hear, but if I don’t say it, Grantaire, I’m going to go out of my mind.”

He still can’t stop shaking; can’t seem to control his own body, and when Grantaire brushes some of Enjolras’ hair back from his face, it’s all he can do not to wrap his arms around him again. “Shh,” Grantaire whispers. “It’s okay, I’m listening. Shh.” He then smiles. “I mean, really, shush, Evette’s asleep, please don’t wake her.”

Enjolras laughs, because of course Grantaire’s making jokes – that’s what he always does when a friend is upset; does everything he can to make them smile again. That gives Enjolras a little comfort. He’s really his friend. He might not hate him. “Please sit down,” Enjolras whispers. Grantaire does as he’s told, looking up at Enjolras where he stands. Enjolras tries to gather himself, trying to think about this logically. Just say it. “Okay, first of all, I’m really happy for you and Combeferre. Really. I know I’ve acted like I’m not, and I know I’ve been avoiding you, but that’s not because I’m not happy for you.

“Well, it is a little. I’m happy that you make each other happy. The reason I’ve been avoiding you is that-” he swallows and takes a deep breath, because he’s nearing the hard bit “-is that it _hurts_ to see you together.”

He closes his eyes for a second before he continues. This is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. A lump in his throat seems to not want him to say it, but he swallows it down and looks directly at Grantaire once more.

“Grantaire, I’ve been in love with Combeferre since I was fourteen years old.”

It’s out there, now, and he can’t take it back. Grantaire doesn’t even seem to react, simply staring up at him with his undivided attention, his lips parted ever-so-slightly, perhaps in shock.

“I never told him, so I don’t have any right. I’ve been in love with Combeferre for almost half my life and I didn’t tell him. I think that makes me the world’s most ridiculous person.

“I accepted that I wasn’t going to end up with him, because he never showed any interest in me, whatsoever. I was still in love with him, but I was content to just love him.

“And then _you_ showed up, and stupidly I thought, _hey, here’s a guy who’s funny and charming and pretty damn attractive. Let’s fall in love with him too._ ”

Enjolras breaks off from his speech, and sniffs loudly. Grantaire just continues to watch him. A tear slips down his cheek, but he doesn’t wipe it away, because he needs to say this, and it’s just not important right now.

“And I did. I love you, Grantaire. Fuck. I’m in love with you.” He huffs a short laugh, but it’s sad more than happy. He can’t believe he just said it. “I’m in love with you, and your hair, and your smile, and your absurd sense of humour, and I love Ettie, and God, I just love you.” A sob wrenches from Enjolras throat, and he takes a deep, shaky breath.

Grantaire gets to his feet, and Enjolras panics. Oh, God, he’s going to ask him to leave. He has to finish this.

Enjolras carries on, speaking faster now; tears flow down his face as he desperately tries to get all the words out before Grantaire sends him away.

“I don’t expect you to say anything, or feel the same way. I know you and Combeferre are really happy together and I’m not trying to ruin that, I promise. I know that this is incredibly unfair for me to say, I feel awful about it, but I needed you to hear it. I’m- I’m going to tell Combeferre too. I had to start with you, because you were easier? Or at least I thought you would be, except now I’m standing in your living room crying and I’m so sorry, I’m going to go-”

“Enjolras, stop,” Grantaire interrupts, grabbing his wrists. Enjolras freezes and turns to him, shocked. “Fuck, you couldn’t have done this while Ferre was here, could you?” Grantaire asks, and- _what?_ “No, that’d be far too easy. Oh, God, Enjolras, you poor thing, I’m so sorry.”

Grantaire has started to smile, now, and Enjolras is helpless to do anything but stand there. He blinks at him, pale as anything. “Why- why are you _smiling_?” he asks, worried that the man is mocking him.

But Grantaire is smiling fondly up at him as he gently tucks some of his hair behind his ear, brushing a few tears from his cheeks. Enjolras leans into the gentle touch, unable to not, craving any touch that the man gives to him. “Oh, Enj, I can’t tell you right now,” Grantaire says, and Enjolras doesn’t understand.

He doesn’t understand at all, but then Grantaire’s offering him his bed for the night, telling him that he’ll take the sofa, and Enjolras doesn’t know what’s happening.

“In the morning we’ll call Combeferre,” Grantaire says, sounding incredibly calm, “and we’re going to get this all sorted out.”

Enjolras just nods. He’s absolutely exhausted, but at least Grantaire isn’t telling him to go. He’s not sure what is happening, but it’s better than he could have hoped for.

Grantaire shows Enjolras to his room and Enjolras settles beneath the covers, leaning up against the headboard and trying not to think too much about the fact that _he’s in Grantaire’s bed_.

Standing in the doorway, Grantaire gives Enjolras one more smile. “Hey, Enj?” Enjolras looks up at him, and his heart almost stops at the sight of the man leaning against his doorpost with a small smile dancing across his lips. “It’s going to be alright.”

Enjolras wants to hide away beneath the covers, but the words spring to his lips without his say-so, and he fixes his eyes on Grantaire and says, “I love you,” in a quiet whisper. The words sound strong in the silent flat, and it’s the only thing Enjolras is sure of right now.

Grantaire smiles, a little sadly, at him, and Enjolras wants to turn away from the pity in his eyes. “I know,” Grantaire says quietly, and then flicks out the light.

-

“Stay here tonight, I’ll take the sofa, and then in the morning we’ll call Combeferre, and we’re going to get this all sorted out,” Grantaire says, calm as you like. Inside, his heart is pounding, because _Enjolras loves them_.

Enjolras just nods, looking completely downtrodden and exhausted.

Grantaire shows Enjolras to his room and has to fight the urge to climb into the bed with him.

Standing in the doorway, he gives Enjolras one more smile. “Hey, Enj?” The blond looks up at him, his eyes red-rimmed and sad. “It’s going to be alright.”

Enjolras sits in his bed, duvet pulled up to his stomach as he leans against the headboard, looking smaller and younger than Grantaire has ever seen him. He looks completely unsure of everything, and when he smiles, it only looks sad, but when he fixes his eyes on Grantaire and says, “I love you,” it sounds strong.

It’s all Grantaire can do to not crawl into bed with him and hold him close and tell him he loves him too, but instead he just says, “I know,” quietly, and then flicks out the light.

When he makes it to the living room, he finds Evette standing there, blinking blearily and clutching her blanket. “Papa, what’s going on?” she asks, yawning.

Grantaire sighs softly. “Enjolras is staying here tonight,” he tells her.

She blinks, frowning. “Can I go see him?”

 _Well_ , Grantaire thinks, _it can’t really make it worse._ “Go on,” he says. “But make sure you ask before climbing right in there. If he says no, come right back, Eve.”

She nods and trots off towards her papa’s room. Grantaire follows along, silently, and he listens at the crack in the doorway that she left when she didn’t quite manage to shut it.

“Enjolras?” he hears Evette say, tentatively.

There’s the sound of sheets rustling, and then Enjolras saying, “Hey, Ettie. Are you coming in?”

Grantaire listens to his little girl clambering into bed with Enjolras.

“What’s wrong?” Evette asks.

Enjolras sighs, heavily, and then says, slowly, “I’m in love with your papa.”

“Oh,” Evette answers. Then, after a thoughtful pause, “If it makes you feel better, I think he loves you too.”

Grantaire rests his forehead against the wall, closing his eyes as he listens for Enjolras’ response to that.

“Go to sleep, Ettie,” Enjolras says, at last.

Grantaire creeps away from the door and flops down onto the sofa in the living room, exhausted. He calls Combeferre.

“Grantaire, why are you calling at 3am?” is Combeferre’s tired starter when he picks up.

“Don’t come over right now, but in the morning you need to get here. Enjolras showed up at my door a little while back.” He pauses, letting Combeferre grasp that, and then says, in a hushed voice, “He loves us, Ferre.”

He hears Combeferre’s sharp intake of breath. “Really? He said that?”

“Yes,” Grantaire confirms. “It sounds so beautiful,” he admits.

“Where is he now?” Combeferre asks.

“In my bed with Evette,” Grantaire answers. “I’m sleeping on the sofa. This might sound odd, but seeing him in my bed is a really good image.”

Combeferre laughs. “No, I understand that feeling; I get that with you.”

“I need to sleep; tonight has been a rollercoaster, but you need to get over here first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Thank God I have tomorrow off,” Combeferre says. “Night, R.”

Grantaire smiles. “Night, Ferre.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

-

Enjolras can’t sleep for long, and he wakes up far too early.

Lying in Grantaire’s bed is just too much for him; everything about it smells exactly the way the artist does.

He gets out of bed, being careful to not wake up Evette, and heads for the kitchen. He passes Grantaire, asleep on the sofa, and he bites his lip as he watches the soft rise and fall of the man’s chest, and the relaxed expression on his face. Idly, Enjolras wonders what it would be like to wake up to that every day. Shoving the thought aside – because only Combeferre gets that privilege – he goes in search of coffee.

He has already drunk one and is on his second when Grantaire wakes up. “I hope you don’t mind,” he says, nodding at the coffee when Grantaire appears in the doorway.

Grantaire leans up against the doorpost and smiles. The sight makes Enjolras want to go back to bed, and maybe take Grantaire with him. “Not at all,” Grantaire says, his voice an almost lazy drawl, most likely due to the early hour.

He quickly looks down at his hands, trying to stop thinking about Grantaire in ways that he shouldn’t, and he says, “I- I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, or to make things change between you and Combeferre. I’m glad you’re happy with each other.”

It’s a half-truth, and Grantaire must know it.

Grantaire goes across to the kettle, turning his back on him. “Combeferre’s coming over at some point this morning,” Grantaire tells him, and Enjolras mouth dries. “I called him last night.”

Enjolras stares at Grantaire’s back, wanting to ask what he told Combeferre, and Grantaire doesn’t look at him. “Okay,” Enjolras says at last, his voice quiet.

“Is Eve still asleep?” Grantaire asks, turning back around, coffee in hand, and Enjolras huffs a little laugh.

“Yes, she is. I assume you sent her along to my – your – room last night?” he asks, fairly sure of the answer, and very grateful to Grantaire for doing so.

“She asked me and I told her to ask you,” Grantaire replies, a slight smile on his face.

“Thanks,” Enjolras says, meaning it sincerely. Then, “Can I use your shower? I look a bit of a mess and I’d like to look…” _Good. Clean. Attractive?_ “not a mess,” he trails off lamely.

Grantaire shows him the way to the shower, telling him where the towels are, before asking if he’d like a change of clothes too. Enjolras looks down at him at that with a slight smile, and almost laughs at their height difference. “I don’t think your clothes would fit me,” he says.

“I have some of Combeferre’s clothes, too,” Grantaire says, and Enjolras does his best not to flinch. The reason why Grantaire has Combeferre’s clothes here is clear, and it’s something that Enjolras can’t stand to think about – yet another reminder that their relationship has already progressed and Enjolras is not a part of it. “You’re about the same size, aren’t you? You could borrow those,” Grantaire offers.

Enjolras tries not to grimace as he says, “No, thank you.”

Grantaire seems to understand, and he just nods and gives him a quick smile before disappearing down the hall.

Enjolras makes quick work in shedding his clothes and stepping into the warm running water. He lets the water pour over his head, soaking his hair and dripping down his face. The warm water serves as something as a distraction but his mind still slips down tracks it shouldn’t. At one point he wonders how many times Grantaire has got off in this shower, right where he stands now, and that only leads to him wondering whether Combeferre has ever joined him right here, too.

Desperately, he tries to think of something – anything – else. He chooses to focus on what he’ll have to tell Combeferre soon, and the fear is enough to detract from his other thoughts. His stomach does flips at the thought of facing his best friend and saying the words, “I love you,” in an entirely different way to how best friends usually say it.

-

Grantaire leaves him to it, desperately praying that Combeferre shows up soon to take his mind off the fact that Enjolras is in his shower. The sound of running water is not at all helpful, and all Grantaire can think about is the water trailing down Enjolras’ pale skin, soaking his hair, and-

A knock at the door pulls him out of his thoughts. Wrenching open the door, he all but throws himself into Combeferre’s arms. “Thank God you’re here,” he says. “Enjolras is in the _shower_.”

Combeferre laughs at that and gives him a quick kiss before Grantaire pulls him inside. “How are we going to do this?” Combeferre asks, and Grantaire shrugs.

“Wing it?” he offers.

Combeferre laughs. “I’d say no, but I actually think it’s our best bet.”

Grantaire agrees. “I’ll go let him know you’re here.”

Grantaire heads down the corridor again, to where the bathroom is and he knocks on the door. “Hey, Enj? Combeferre’s here.”

-

The nervousness increases by a tenfold, and he quickly hops out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist while he leaves the water running and goes across to the door. Opening it just a crack, he peeks out at Grantaire, who jumps at the door opening.

 “Did you tell him?” Enjolras asks, peering at him anxiously, not sure what the answer he wants is.

Grantaire shakes his head. “No,” he says, and something akin to relief floods through Enjolras. “I thought you would want to tell him yourself. If that’s not the case, I can tell him now.”

Enjolras shakes his head. “No- no, I can do it.” He’s terrified, yes, but he gets to be the one to tell Combeferre that he loves him, and that seems like an upside.

Grantaire seems to hesitate, and then says, “Do you want to be alone, or can I be there with him?”

“You can be there,” Enjolras tells him. “You should be there,” he then corrects. He knows that Grantaire would want to be there, but also that Grantaire really should be there – Enjolras is about to confess to loving his boyfriend, and while he did the same thing last night without Combeferre being there, it feels different.

Grantaire turns to leave, but then Enjolras says, “R?” and he turns back.

“What is it?” he asks, stepping a little nearer, so Enjolras doesn’t have to talk very loud.

Enjolras stares at him for a moment, and the words get stuck in his throat, but he finally whispers, “I’m scared.”

Grantaire gives him a soft smile, his eyes kind. “What did I tell you last night? It’s going to be alright, Enj. We’ll be in the living room. Take your time.”

Enjolras gives him a brisk nod before shutting the door. He goes and gets back in the shower, needing to collect himself before he can face them.

When he gets out, he dresses slowly, before staring at himself in the mirror for a time. He’s pale, and he can see plain on his face how terrified he is, but he reminds himself that it’s his best friend out there, and it brings him a little strength. Combeferre has never once mocked him and he doesn’t for a second think that he will now. His only fear is that this will make things tense between them.

All he can do is pray that it won’t.

-

Grantaire first goes to see Evette, who’s still curled up in bed. He tells her to stay there until he comes and gets her because he needs to talk to his friends without her listening. She nods, understandingly, asking if it’s about Enjolras. He tells her it is and she smiles.

Next he goes back to Combeferre, reassured by the way he can still hear water running in the bathroom, and he tells Combeferre that Enjolras thinks he doesn’t know. They sit down on the sofa together, holding hands for reassurance. Grantaire pulls his legs up so that his knees rest on Combeferre’s thigh and Combeferre lets his head rest on Grantaire’s shoulder.

They’re still sitting like that when Enjolras steps into the room, almost ten minutes later.

Grantaire sits up straighter and gives him a big smile. Enjolras returns the smile hesitantly, and Grantaire nudges Combeferre so that he notices Enjolras.

-

When he gets into the living room, Combeferre and Grantaire are sitting on the sofa, Grantaire curling into his side, their hands linked.

Grantaire sits up straighter at his arrival and gives him a big smile. It helps with his nerves and Enjolras cautiously returns the smile. Grantaire nudges Combeferre and the other man looks over to where Enjolras is standing.

“Hey, Enj,” Combeferre says. Enjolras’ heart starts picking up speed and he tries to subtly take a calming breath.

“Hi, Combeferre,” he replies at last, softly.

Combeferre doesn’t seem to have a clue what’s going on. “Grantaire said that it was urgent?” he asks, with a sideways glance at the man in question. “What’s going on?”

Enjolras leans up against the wall on the other side of the room, watching the two of them on the sofa carefully. His lower lip trembles just a little, and he’s sure that if he steps away from the wall he’ll collapse.

“Why don’t you come and sit down, Enjolras?” Grantaire suggests, gently, and Enjolras can see his concern in his eyes. He’s very glad he told Grantaire first; because there’s no way he could do this now without Grantaire’s steadiness.

He refuses Grantaire’s suggestion and he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. He counts to four in his head and opens his eyes. “I need to tell you something,” he says in a rush. He looks straight at Combeferre, since Grantaire already knows, and it’s his childhood best friend that he needs to talk to right now. “Something that I probably should have told you years ago.”

Combeferre tilts his head a little, seeming to be intrigued. “Go on,” he prompts.

“Okay,” Enjolras says, and then continues in a rush, “I don’t want you to think that I’m trying to break you two up, or that I’m not happy for you, because I am, I’m so happy for you, and I-”

“Enjolras,” Combeferre interrupts, looking at him seriously. “Take a deep breath.” Enjolras does as he is asked, breathing out through his nose and looking at Combeferre with wide eyes. Combeferre gives him a smile. “Pretend it’s your opening speech for a debate, like in university. Clear, concise, calm.”

That’s part of why he loves him: Combeferre always knows the right thing to say. Enjolras lifts his head a little and steps away from the wall. He faces the two men head on and smiles, finding no other way to do it, and he says, “I’m in love with you.”

He hears Combeferre breathes in sharply and Enjolras continues, “I am so utterly in love with you. I have been since I was fourteen.”

“Oh, Enjolras,” Combeferre breathes, and Enjolras doesn’t want to think about what he could be thinking. (Is he shocked? He must be. Pleased? Unlikely.)

“I’m not just in love with you, though,” Enjolras continues. “I’m in love with Grantaire, too. That’s why I’m here, because I told him last night. I just needed you both to hear it, at least once, so that I could- I don’t know.” He pauses and glances between the two of them, looking at their clasped hands and he gives a half-hearted shrug. “I guess so that I could move on.”

His body slumps a little, but he’s said it, and he’s so glad they know. He can feel his eyes start to tear up a little while he fights to maintain his smile. His lower lip is trembling a little, and he’s thinking that he might fall to the floor any moment when suddenly Combeferre’s on his feet, towing Grantaire with him, and Combeferre throws his arms around Enjolras, while Grantaire echoes the action.

Enjolras stills, wrapped tightly in their arms, and his heart pounds far too fast. Tears are fast filling his eyes, threatening to spill over, and their friendship means so much to him.

Combeferre shifts so that he can place his hands either side of Enjolras’ face. He presses their foreheads together. Looking into Combeferre’s eyes, a tear slips down Enjolras’ face. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Stop apologising,” Combeferre tells him. Enjolras blinks at him, glancing sideways at Grantaire for a second. Grantaire looks nothing short of delighted, and Enjolras is started to feel a little confused. “You love us?” Combeferre asks, hardly more than a whisper.

As his whole body shakes, sure that he’s only being kept on his feet by Combeferre and Grantaire’s hold on him, he nods. Combeferre smiles, and Enjolras notices that he’s on the verge of tears too. Combeferre glances away, to look at Grantaire for a second, but Enjolras can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from Combeferre for even a second, so why he was looking, Enjolras doesn’t know. Combeferre looks back at Enjolras and says with a bright smile, “That’s really great, Enj, because we love you too.”

Enjolras knees buckle underneath him and, despite the fact that both Combeferre and Grantaire are there to hold him up, they all go sinking to the floor. Shaking, his eyes jump between their thrilled faces, and he can’t believe it. He just can’t. This can’t be real. “Say that again?” he begs, needing to hear it again. It can’t be true.

“Grantaire and I,” Combeferre begins slowly, making sure that Enjolras is following his words, “are in love with you.”

Tears stream down Enjolras face as he clings to them both desperately. “You mean it?” he asks desperately. How is this real?

He looks across to Grantaire, and there he is, beaming while tears pour down his face too. “God, Enjolras,” Grantaire says, gripping his arm, “we love you so fucking much.”

A laugh bubbles up and out of Enjolras uncontrollably. “Oh, my God,” he laughs and he puts one hand over his mouth in an attempt to hide his grin. But Combeferre and Grantaire are both grinning too.

The three men sit on the floor, wrapped around each other, grinning madly while tears run down their faces.

“We were going to tell you,” Combeferre tells him, sobering up and looking at Enjolras with sincerity. “Next week, we were going to tell you. We didn’t expect you to get there first and speak up.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Enjolras admits, his smile dropping. He thinks about the time where he thought he’d just have to accept it, keep quiet and let them get on. “It felt too selfish, but I had to because I wouldn’t be able to be around you otherwise. I felt like I was lying to you.” He had to let them know.

Combeferre lifts his chin up so they’re face to face. Enjolras’ breath stutters, his heart racing. Combeferre glances for a second to Grantaire, and then he looks directly at Enjolras. Enjolras stares at him, wide-eyed. “Can I kiss you?” Combeferre asks.

Enjolras lets out a whimper accidentally and nods desperately. “God, yes.”

Combeferre smiles and leans in to close the gap between them.

Their lips press together, and Enjolras has wanted this forever, and it’s so much more than he had imagined. Combeferre’s kiss is steady and calm, like the man himself, but when his hand moves up to twist tightly into Enjolras’ hair, Enjolras whines against his lips.

He hears Grantaire whisper, “Holy shit,” and Enjolras pulls away to look at him, his eyes wide.

“Are you going to kiss me?” he asks, and he can’t help but smile when Grantaire nods eagerly.

Enjolras sighs softly against him, and Grantaire wraps one hand around the back of his neck, running his fingers through the short hairs there.

Enjolras shivers, wrapping one arm around Grantaire’s neck and pulling him nearer.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Enjolras whispers when they break apart, and Grantaire murmurs, “Me too.”

Grantaire wraps his arms around Enjolras’ waist and pulls him in for a tight hug where they sit on the floor. Enjolras moves just a little slower, wrapping his arms around Grantaire more carefully and gently pressing his lips to the top of Grantaire’s head.

When Grantaire glances across at Combeferre, both Enjolras and he open their arms for him, and then they’re all clinging to each other, wrapped up in each other’s arms, smiling.

“Enjolras?” Grantaire asks, quietly. “Will you be mine and Combeferre’s boyfriend?”

Enjolras almost shouts the word, “Yes!” in his enthusiasm and thrill at hearing that phrase, and Grantaire and Combeferre pull him in closer and land sloppy kisses on the corners of his mouth. Enjolras starts to laugh first, and the other two aren’t far behind. Pretty quickly, they’re not much more than a giggling pile of limbs on Grantaire’s living room floor.

Beaming, Enjolras can’t imagine anything better than sitting here with his two boyfriends’ arms around him, but then Grantaire yells through the flat, “Eve? Get in here,” and Enjolras grins.

The little girl comes scampering down the hallway immediately and as soon as she sets eyes on the pile on the floor she lets out a screech of happiness and launches herself at them, her curled hair tangled and a mess and a giant grin across her face.

The three men adapt their hold on each other to allow Evette into the mix and she wriggles her way to their centre.

“Why are we all on the floor?” Evette asks, even as she merrily takes both Combeferre and Enjolras’ hands.

“Because we’re happy,” Grantaire replies, and Enjolras looks across at him, feeling the happiness course through his bones. 

“And why are you so happy?” she asks, looking only at her papa.

Enjolras laughs and takes that one, smiling down at the little girl in his arms. “Because he now has two super handsome boyfriends,” he says, throwing a wink at Grantaire.

Little Evette’s face creases in confusion for a moment. “You’re all dating?” she asks.

“Exactly,” Grantaire confirms.

Evette’s face lights up in a big smile once more. “Oh, I’m so glad, I really do like Enjolras,” she informs her papa, then adding, “Are you going to date Cosette, too? I like her also.”

Grantaire bursts out laughing, and Enjolras can feel Combeferre laughing silently next to him. “No, mon petit chou,” Grantaire says, “only these two.”

Enjolras feels a buzzing run through him at that, and he couldn’t agree more. It’s only these two. Only these ridiculous, hilarious, charming, handsome, wonderful men that are wrapped around him, for the rest of his life, he hopes.

Evette’s face drops in disappointment for a moment before she thoughtfully says, “I suppose Cosette has Marius. These two are enough.”

Combeferre and Enjolras join in Grantaire’s laughter then, giving Evette a tight squeeze. Enjolras has his face pressed against the top of Evette’s hair, and she grips his hand tightly. His eyes catch Combeferre’s in the odd pile that they’re in and he can’t believe it – he can’t believe that he’s here. That he’s allowed to be here. That Combeferre loves him. That Grantaire loves him too.

The little family – because that’s what Enjolras supposes they are – eventually pull themselves together, and Combeferre makes them all pancakes. Enjolras kisses his boyfriends at every given opportunity, making up for lost time, and neither Grantaire nor Combeferre seem to have any desire to make him stop.

Everything’s good.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this from R’s POV but then I was suddenly thinking “oh but what is Enj thinking at that point” and things escalated and THEN I was like hey let’s mix them. If there are any parts you’d like to read from the other’s perspective let me know and I’ll upload them in a series with this one.
> 
> Rent is not a feel-good movie but is a Courfeyrac and Enjolras (and Combeferre) movie.
> 
> My obsession w ferre and enj watching the office is literally just bc I'm watching it rn (also I think they'd like it)
> 
> Also I rly like disney
> 
> The start to courfeyrac's speech about love is something that I read somewhere and loved utterly (if it was a fic I'm so sorry for ripping that off) and I did my best at repeating it though the exact wording's probably a little off because it’s from memory and while I have a good memory I’m not perfect (seriously if it was from a fic I’m so sorry but I know I heard it before I got into les mis fanfiction so… it wasn’t from a les mis fic I can promise that at least???)
> 
> Enjolras listening to Chopin to relax – I wrote it with the idea that he was listening to the nocturnes because I think they’re beautiful and v relaxing though some of them get a little less relaxing I still love it and find it calming sorry idk music really I just know what sounds nice to me. Some people don’t like the idea of E listening to classical music for some reason but I don’t give a fuck. (My friend thinks that he’d find it excessive and irritating and just get pissed off.) I’ve headcanoned that it’s a habit he picked up off of Combeferre and never wanted to get rid of. (Also that would be why he’s listening to it then – it reminds him of Combeferre – something they share and sentimental crap like that.)
> 
> I have a writing blog: theskyis-forever come say hi and leave a prompt :)  
> And finally, if you enjoyed this: [buy me a coffee?](http://ko-fi.com/A831F9U)


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